


Project: JIGOKUGATA

by Kashimalin



Category: Notice Me Senpai! (Video Game), Vocaloid
Genre: Actual plot, Angst, Blood and Gore, Death, Gore, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, On Hiatus, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, characters and tags will be updated as fic goes along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9954494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kashimalin/pseuds/Kashimalin
Summary: What do people do when they feel like they do not belong?In the Human Zoo of Hell, outcasts from society are placed into the confines of cages within, so that they can be examined and controlled. Everyone inside has a different story to tell, and a different path to follow.Updating Status: On hiatus. Future chapters will not have artworks with them.





	1. Nounai Kakumei Boy - Ryuu (Entry #3)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a Notice Me Senpai/Jigokugata Ningen Doubusten crossover - the latter being an album that is about a "human zoo". The Zoo is made up of outcasts from society, and each song on the album details a different girl. This AU/Crossover gives the album's plotline a continuity and puts the boys from NMS there instead!
> 
> This fic originated on the Notice-MeSenpai blog at http://notice-mesenpai.tumblr.com ! If you want updates before they happen here, check us out!
> 
>  **PLEASE NOTE** that the contents within may prove to hit close to home to some viewers. Know that you are not obligated to read this by any means! If you feel uncomfortable while reading, you are welcome to stop.

Ryuu couldn’t remember a time when Kurou wasn’t by his side. His best friend was there at all hours of the day, whenever he needed him to be there. 

His parents had been very accommodating at the start. They would always set the extra plate when he asked, and spoke to Kurou as well when addressing their antics. Both of them were prepared for this phase when it came to raising a child, believing that he would someday grow out of it and they could stop keeping up with asking both of “them” when they needed something.

However, it never seemed to end. They finally sat him down and addressed the issue that he did not need to keep up the act; older boys simply didn’t hold onto their imaginary friends like that. 

And he had seemed to listen. On the surface.

Ryuu still held Kurou close to his heart. The other boy, with his black hair, glasses, and constant smile, provided Ryuu with all the companionship he could ever need. They would sit on his bed for long hours together, talking and laughing. They would run around outside, play games, and talk about their dreams, all the while becoming closer and closer.

At least, Ryuu thought so. 

Some days, Kurou wouldn’t show up right away. He wasn’t there waiting for Ryuu to wake up, and sometimes, he hesitated before going outside. Ryuu especially didn’t like it when Kurou began to not want to enter the school building or go into public places. And he couldn’t force his friend to always be there. Some days, he could not see him. So the solution was obvious.

Ryuu learned to sew from his mother, and after six months of agony at learning the craft, and not having Kurou constantly by his side, he finished a doll of him. Button eyes, custom clothes, and every detail that he could remember. Kurou had been made with love and care, attention to detail and Ryuu knew that his friend was here to stay.

Kurou went almost everywhere with Ryuu, whether sitting idly in his room or buried in his backpack. He still spoke to it, listening to his input and taking the advice it gave. He only did it quietly or in private, as he knew that others would think him strange for having a conversation with this doll. 

Ryuu knew he shouldn’t mind too much, but it still bothered him all the same. But he couldn’t simply neglect his best friend; not when they were the only one who was still on his side. 

So he kept him close; frightfully close at some times. When Ryuu held him, he swore he could feel Kurou’s chest rising and falling with each breath he took. He heard the doll speak back; in a voice that he knew was not his own.

At times, Kurou even initiated the conversation. They would have long talks before bed about their lives – Kurou’s being about his dreams to be someone famous one day, and achieve that alongside Ryuu.

Sometimes, his parents came and looked in on him when he was having those conversations. But, he knew those footsteps, and would quickly look as if he had been in a dream, only muttering in his sleep.

The  _act_  he had to keep up with when it came to this. It was annoying, but wholly necessary. His parents could take Kurou away from him, and that was the last thing he wanted. He never wanted his best and only friend to go.

However, Kurou had other plans as time went on. He stopped starting conversations, Ryuu having to drag information out of him as the doll remained quiet. He would respond with that same happy tone, but something was wrong. 

Ryuu couldn’t release the doll; he kept trying to keep the conversations going, always putting forth the effort to ask for Kurou’s input and assistance. 

There then came the days where he was completely silent. He didn’t talk, cough, or comment. But when Ryuu dug his fingers into Kurou’s stomach, he felt that simple rise and fall – the sign that he was still there. When he felt those small, rhythmic pulses, nails threatening to tear through fabric flesh – he had the urge to dig inside and see what was causing him to not reply. He did not. With deep breaths, he would settle Kurou down, and say, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

But this time, he did not hear only silence. He heard the wheeze of a boy striving to breathe, as he finally got a reply. 

“ _Please stop this! It’s not like you to hold on… Let me go!”_

It was Ryuu’s turn to become silent. His grip did not slacken, but the words settled thickly. The strained breathing filled the silence, and only then did Ryuu release the doll, letting him fall onto the bed. 

“I let go. Did I hurt you?” 

_“…”_

“What? Did I? Or are you saying that so I’ll let go of you and not talk anymore?”

_“Please stop.”_

“Stop what?” 

_“Stop holding onto me. I’m not human, Ryuu! It’s not worth it. Please, let go of me.”_

Ryuu’s eyes widened, and before he knew it, he was running out of his room, eyes filling with tears, the urge to vomit rising in his stomach. Placing a hand over his mouth, he attempted to stop the tears and bile, calming down slowly. 

There was no way his best friend had just said that, right?

_Let go of me._

Ryuu’s eyes flew open. Where had Kurou’s voice come from? Turning to look, the doll was nowhere near. Letting out a breathless laugh, he reminded himself that Kurou couldn’t move.

_I’m not human._

The voice rang in his ears, and he clutched at those next, trying to forget everything that had just happened. 

“Yes, you are. You’re human. You’re my only friend, Kurou.”

_I’m not human._

“Then why do you breathe? Why do you talk to me? Why did you come into my life when I was a child? You grew  _up_  with me, Kurou! We need to spend the rest of our lives together!”

Silence. 

Ryuu had had enough of this charade. Finding scissors, he went back to his room, lifting Kurou to study the loving stitches, the worn surface of the fabric, and his button eyes. Were those tears he could see in them? 

“Why don’t you talk like you used to? Is something wrong?”  _Snip._  “Should we figure out what’s wrong?”  _Snip._ “There must be  _something_  wrong for you to act like this.”

Ryuu continued cutting sporadically, pulling at loose parts and watching the stuffing come out. His movements became frenzied, quick and dirty. 

The blood that began to seep into the pure white cotton wasn’t what he expected. It almost looked as if it was coming out of Kurou, mixing in and staining his skin, dropping onto the bedsheets in splotches.   

Despite the blood, mess, and pain, Ryuu continued to hack at the doll. Ryuu was Kurou’s best friend, and it was up to him to find out what was wrong.

Even if that meant fighting his parents when they tried to separate him and the doll. When it meant slicing through his own fingers to get one last cut before he was separated from Kurou.

Even if it meant the end of life outside a cage.

When he arrived at the doctor’s office, he wasn’t sure about what was going on. His parents had kept Kurou away from him, and he was getting anxious without the familiar friend in an unknown place. His dependency on Kurou had been stronger than he ever realized, and this sudden lack and worry for his best friend prevented him from any clear and rational thoughts. After his parents and him had sat in with a doctor, Ryuu was told to leave the room. A nurse came out with him, but instead of talking, he studied his bandaged hand, carefully moving his joints. They were all intact, but each time he bent his fingers, he could feel the skin shift, and his cuts sting. 

When the door opened again, his parents were thanking the doctor, and taking a card from them. They took Ryuu and got into the car, where they drove to another location, one that Ryuu could never recall seeing before. His parents came to pull him out of the car, escorting him inside as if he were five years old again.

The entire experience became a blur afterwards. His parents talked to a secretary, and a man dressed in a loose suit and red tie came out, muttering something about this being last-minute. They had another conversation, quickly exchanging words, and the man in the red tie told Ryuu to come with him.

But Ryuu refused to move, informing the person that he would not go any further until he had Kurou in his arms. His parents were instructed to get the doll after they pried a description from him, and the man with the red tie sat with him the entire time, staring at him with a look that Ryuu did not appreciate.

When his parents returned with Kurou and all his parts, Ryuu took him, cradling the doll as if he were a child – and felt his breathing again.

The person with the red tie bade Ryuu to come with him, and this time, he did what was asked. When they arrived at their destination, he saw another boy waiting for them in the room with blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. They were unfocused, and the boy was clutching his legs to his chest, and didn’t turn to face them when the two of them walked in.

Ryuu paused at the doorway, studying the other boy within as well. He was about his age, and seemingly in a meditative, transfixed state. When the person approached him, the blond turned to look at them suddenly, and Ryuu knew.

In that moment, his life was changing for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song From The Album This Chapter Belongs To:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WI8JSaY7dfw&list=PLPkRdqN6NiQ1-KnDO3KGJHjwZ5ugoUVmR&index=2


	2. M'aider Sounan Boy - Touru (Entry #4)

Touru scribbled in the last bracket on his math homework. He sat back, relieved that it was finally over. Tonight’s homework had almost ruined the balance of his perfectly arranged schedule. 

Homework in high school was difficult. He had expected this, but it was a change unlike any he anticipated. But working hard and doing everything in perfect form would lead to success in life. That’s what his parents said. And his teachers. His doctors. His tutors. Constantly, the idea of  _hard work will go far_  was drilled into his mind, to the point where it consumed his waking hours and very existence. And he did not mind it one bit. It was all he had ever known. Nothing could be better than a perfectly organized schedule. 

Closing his books, he laid his homework for that day out in a stack on his desk, shut his desk lamp off, and began to get ready for bed that night. 

He mused on the next day as he brushed his teeth, listening to his parents walking into his room and shuffling papers around on his desk. He knew that they did this; they just cared and wanted to make sure that he got his work done. That’s what they said when he caught them the first time, and after that point, he began to leave it out for them to make their job simpler. He also hated it when they tore his backpack apart to find everything if he happened to put it away. It ruined what they had taught him. 

He waited in the bathroom until he heard them leave, then left and went to bed, hearing his mother call, “Good work, and good night.”

_Good work, and good night._

* * *

In school, Touru kept to himself. If he could, he opted to do group projects alone. He sat a distance away from people at lunch. He was only in the fencing program at his school for the extracurricular merit. There was nothing wrong with this; he believed that people would only slow him down when they worked with him, that they could never keep up.

So when a teacher finally put their foot down about him working with others, and had him sit with a group, he felt like calling in sick for the first time in his life. Being in a group could also risk a lower grade, and risk lowering his GPA, and in turn, potentially drop him from the number one spot. 

The three boys were all excitable and eager. They seemed to be friends already, and Touru instantly felt excluded. This was  _precisely_  why he didn’t make friends. Especially when one was in the fencing club and meant he would have to face them again later in that day. He shuddered at the idea of trying to treat someone with a familiar air. 

“Touru?” A boy, who he knew as Shun, leaned over and tapped his desk, instantly causing Touru to retreat away from the sound. 

“What?” His tone came out as a sneer. 

“We’re dividing up group work. What did you want to take?”

He paused for a moment. The first and last time he had worked in a group, the other students were practically shoving all the work on him.

“I could do it all,” he said bluntly, but the second boy, Shigeru, piped up.  

“No, you don’t have to do that! We’re a group. We work together.” 

The last boy, Masuda, was silent, but gave a nod when Touru looked in his direction. 

“…If the rest of you hold me back, I will not hesitate to do the entire thing myself.”

The three laughed slightly, which puzzled Touru. Why were they laughing at something so serious as his work and grades? It was an entirely important matter to commit to your studies.

“I’ll take the end chapter analysis!” Shigeru cried out, writing his input on the sheet of paper. 

“I can begin managing the power point,” Masuda muttered, scrawling an ineligible signature on the paper.

Touru could only hope that these people would fulfill their promises, as he reached over with a pencil to neatly write his name next to “ _Character Analysis and Relationships”_.

_Hard work will go far._

* * *

Touru hated Shigeru standing next to him. The invasion of his personal space, which was normally a foot around him in all directions, made him highly uncomfortable. There were other ways Shigeru could be occupying his time, but instead, he was choosing to be right next to Touru while they waited for their turns to spar in the mock fencing tournaments. 

“Do you need to be right here?” he finally asked, bluntly. Shigeru turned to look at him, before smiling. 

“Why? You seemed lonely, so I’d think you wanted company.”

“No, thank you, I don’t need it.”

The silence came again, and Shigeru shifted awkwardly on his feet, getting just a  _little_  bit closer, causing Touru to recoil. “What do you  _want?”_

The boy took a deep breath, then turned to Touru with determined eyes. “The other two boys don’t believe that you would come out to get lunch with us over the weekend. They think that you’re too busy since you’ll be here for the Saturday practice, then go right home. But I think you could make the time.”

Touru blinked once, then turned away. “That’s a stupid idea. Of course I’m not going.”

“But why not!” Shigeru looked offended – and still grew closer. “That’s not  _fair_! You shut yourself away from us, and this project won’t get done! Do you ever go out and have fun—“

“Get away!” Touru pushed him back, before taking a few steps away from Shigeru. “G-Get away from me, please. Don’t s-s-stand that close.”

The other boy took a few deep breaths, regaining his composure before looking to Touru with a disappointed face. “Fine, be that way. The offer’s still on the table, but they’re right. You’re not going to change your mind.”

He stalked off, and Touru glanced around to see all the other members staring and the coach watching him with an even and disapproving look. 

_It wasn’t my fault._

* * *

The weekend grew closer, and Touru began to see how the news Shigeru had brought back from fencing had spread to Shun and Masuda. They gave him the café address and told him he could come if he wanted – but Touru doubted that they even wanted to see him there. Nobody invited him to outings or parties, every birthday of his had been celebrated with his parents, alone, and all holidays were extremely minimal and simple affairs. There was never much to look forward to, except the promised future that came with hard work. It would arrive, and he would be better than those three.

But the feeling still nagged in his mind throughout the remainder of the week and through the entirety of fencing rehearsal. And Shigeru’s crestfallen face was not helping matters either. Every time his mask was off, Touru was forced to see it out of the corner of his eye. It caused guilt, something that he tried to smother and crush with every blow and parry of his fencing sword, but to no avail. By the end of practice, it swallowed him whole, and he approached Shigeru in the practice room after texting his parents to say that he was going to be home a little late, as he was going to work on the project with his group. 

“…How do you get to the café.”

Shigeru slowly turned to him, processing what Touru had just said. He was about to repeat it a second time when the boy’s face brightened, and he pulled his duffel bag over a shoulder and took Touru’s hand. “Come on, let’s go!” 

Instantly, he yanked his hand away, but followed closer than usual, not wanting to get lost and be unable to find his way. He memorized the route, roughly a ten-minute walk from campus, and followed the boy into a small storefront, the warm smell of coffee beans and some other home-ly scent filling the air. He recognized Shun on his gaming system and Masuda with his laptop, who saw Touru and seemed shocked. Shigeru happily waved with a huge grin and brought him over to the table.

“Hey there! Glad you made it, we all thought you were going to ditch on us,” Shun said with a smile.

“We can get work done more efficiently with you here,” Masuda commented, turning his laptop so he could show what he had begun doing with the powerpoint. Touru’s eyes widened at the broad topic notes he had already made, and the way the slides were arranged allowed for them to discuss their topics in a rotation format, rather than the always awkward “who goes next” style. 

“This is… impressive work,” he breathed, sitting down to click through the powerpoint while Masuda leaned back with a grin. “Would you be willing to teach me any of your tips?”

The other boy’s eyes widened, and Touru instantly realized what he had just said, sliding the laptop back towards Masuda. “Never mind. Ignore it.” 

Shigeru came over with a couple cups of water and a precariously balanced plate of cookies and sweets, which Shun took from him and placed in the center of the table, instantly going for a chocolate chip cookie. “Nobody can touch ‘em, or I’ll 360 no-scope you.”

Touru blinked twice, trying to process what on earth Shun had just said. But before he could ask and find the answer, they were moving on again as Shigeru reached for a cupcake and Masuda took another cookie, teasingly going for a chocolate chip one as Shun cried out in protest.

Again, he briefly felt alone, a pang of jealously that he had never experienced before. They were getting along. They were  _friends._

Shigeru turned his head to Touru, and then quickly pulled a cupcake off the plate and pushed it at Touru. “Eat it. This place has great food!” 

Touru looked up and then back down at the small treat, with a pretty orange wrapper and swirl of chocolate frosting on the brown cake. He couldn’t deny it looked delicious, and when he took a bite, he couldn’t remember anything so sweet. His parents always made the cakes he ate at parties, but those had stopped long ago and this one… it tasted spongy. Soft. And yet the texture wasn’t awful. It just felt so foreign.

“I think he likes it,” Shun said with a grin. “Mission accomplished!” He high-fived Masuda, and then said, “All right, let’s get to work.”

The four boys went to work on what they had found, complimenting Touru’s thorough research and hanging onto what he said about their work, but Touru in return found that they had had enlightening and even clever ideas about the material. They had put effort into what they wanted to do with the project, and Touru hadn’t thought they would. He quietly filed away the notes he had taken in case they did not hold up their end of the bargain into his folder again, listening what they had to say while they added notes to the powerpoint and began to expand on each other’s ideas. 

Time flew faster than he would’ve guessed, and nobody glanced to look at any clocks. Until he saw a familiar face walk through the door that caused all color to drain from his features as every realization hit him at once.

His phone was still on silent. He had forgotten to turn it up after practice. As she began walking over, Touru went right to his phone and saw the texts and calls, and that an hour and fifteen minutes had gone by since they arrived.

“M-Mother—“

She came over and pulled him from his seat, but was all smiles to the other three boys. “I’m sorry, he has an appointment at home. I was just driving by and thought I could pick him up! If you don’t mind…”

Touru didn’t like the grip on his arm, but went with her after pulling away to collect all his things and nodded in turn to Shun, Shigeru, and Masuda. They waved, but their faces looked deeply concerned – Touru couldn’t understand why. Of course his mother was worried. He hadn’t been home in an hour, and he had other work to do. They walked out after Touru paid his share for the food, and got into the car, his mother smiling and ruffling his hair. 

“I’m glad you got to go out, and that you had so much fun. But I talked to your teacher, and they’re refusing to give you independence on this project. Do you think you can tolerate them for me until the project is over?” 

“Of course,” he said, formally and simply. “We’ll work together and finish it.”

His mother was silent, her fingers paused on his hair. But then she gave one more quick shake and pulled away to turn the car on. “I know you can. Commit to your work. I believe that you can do most of it alone, and they won’t mind.”

Touru nodded, and the car ride was totally silent, save for asking about fencing and about dinner that night and how his schedule might have to be altered a bit for the time lost. He understood that. He hadn’t meant to ruin his schedule. That was his fault.

_But I don’t want to do this project alone._

* * *

Touru had felt the repercussions of being late that night. He had been unable to double-check his work and get a consistent formal outline done for his next paper. But the memory of the chocolate cake and warm company remained in his mind, and he found himself feeling bad for leaving them.

His phone laid untouched in his bag, silent. Shun and the rest of the boys had given him their numbers, but had been very respectful to his request for e-mail instead. But maybe, just this once, he could text them.

Reaching down, he pulled out the cellphone, and started up a conversation with Shun. The blank text box and blinking line sat before him, and he felt his palms beginning to sweat. He had never done anything like this before. People never texted him. He never texted. It was a new foreign concept, and all he wanted to do was just simply apologize for today.

What was there to apologize for, anyway? He had made a mistake by not frequently checking the time, and dragged his mom out of the house when she used the name of the café he had sent her to find him. He would’ve taken the bus home just fine and if anything, the apology was owed to his mother. 

That didn’t stop his fingers from typing out, “Hello. Sorry to text, this isn’t something I normally do. I wanted to apologize for today. I didn’t mean to leave you all so suddenly and should have said something. I hope you understand.”

 _Is this even good enough?_  Touru read it over three times, before finally hitting send. The phone buzzed back barely ten seconds later, with three texts from Shun in a row. 

“ _it’s all good man don’t worry about it_

_we were just surprised is all and missed u_

_masuda also said he’d teach you his ppt skillz”_

Touru’s smile grew when he saw the last text, happy to know that Masuda was willing to do that even after he had left so abruptly. 

“ _Thank you,”_ he spelled out in return, relived that unlike his voice, no extra syllables were accidentally added in his nervous state. 

“Touru?” His father opened the door without a single warning, and Touru dropped the phone, hearing it hit the ground as a soft  _thump_  on the carpet. His father eyed him, but said nothing. 

“Your mother told me about today. I hope those boys aren’t causing too much trouble. You told them about your no texting rule, correct?”

“I did,” Touru said simply. He decided not to delve into it anymore and silently told himself that he would delete those texts when he got the chance after this. 

The silence came again, and his father nodded once. “All right, I hope they listen. It’s not your fault if they text you incessantly instead of doing work. They won’t get good jobs and understand the full value of their education.”

“They won’t,” Touru agreed, and his father smiled warmly. He loved seeing his father’s smile – it was always genuine and kind, and one of the very few times that he looked even remotely happy. In every other part of his life, his face was in a strict, firm line. He felt guilty half-lying to his father’s face to earn that smile, but it wasn’t that he was lying… just that he wasn’t going to tell the whole truth willingly.

“Good night, son. And good work today. You seem to have finished everything.”

“Good night, dad.”

_I didn’t mean to lie._

* * *

Touru wasn’t sure why he had gone to the café again. And why he hadn’t called his parents beforehand. It was an impromptu visit after classes when they decided that they wanted to work more on the project, and Touru found himself following without thinking of the consequences.

A couple of weeks had passed and he had added them to the schedule of his day, and they had listened and followed after the incident with his mother. But this time, the teacher had asked for them to go first in the order of presentations, and the due date had shifted – which was unprecedented. The entire team worked then to get the powerpoint done, meaning that it was time to work harder and smarter. Thus, an emergency meeting had been called and Touru dragged out by Shun before he had a chance to call his parents… and now he was afraid of their reaction if he did so now. Maybe he could only do thirty minutes. That way, he could say the bus came early and therefore, he had missed it, and instead of waiting around he decided to get work done on the project.

He went in with that mindset, at least. But this time, he didn’t even get thirty minutes. His father came before they could hardly finish eating and put serious work into the project, and he stood and watched them like a hawk as they worked for roughly ten minutes until he had made a choice about Touru’s connection with those boys and pulled him out, despite Shun’s clear protests against his father taking Touru away. He was forced into the backseat of the car this time, politely instructed to buckle his seatbelt, and heard the door slam shut with a ferocity unlike anything he had ever seen in his father. But when the door closed on the driver’s side, his father turned back and patted his son’s leg gently.

“We’ll get you back and away from those boys. Your mother and I have been so worried about you and we think it’s time we actually start homeschooling you.”

“W-W-What?” Touru moved to lean forward at his father and protest, but a glare so harsh turned upon him that he reeled back and watched in silence as his father began driving him home. He didn’t want to go inside, but the will of his father said otherwise. Forced back into the house, Touru was told to go to his room.

And wait.

_Alone, without my friends._

It wasn’t very long – he estimated only ten minutes had passed until his mother came upstairs with a happy face and knelt before where he sat on the bed, taking his hands in a kind gesture.

“We’re very proud of all the work you have done so far,” she said quietly. “Your father and I believe that you’ve done so much to progress through all your classes and be at the top of your school… but know it’s best to homeschool you now. It will be easier that way. Your work will be more engaging, and you’ll still be able to apply to many wonderful universities and get a good degree and job, so long as you put the work in.”

“I-I-I-I want to talk to my friends and still go to pri-private school, Mom,” Touru began, but then felt his cheek burn as his mother slapped him across the face and he instantly felt like crying – why had she done that to him? What had he done wrong? He just wanted to be with other people and experience something different…

“Your stutter’s back,” she commented lightly, as if she hadn’t just physically assaulted him. “We’ll see if we can get your speech therapist back, too. At least with a homeschooling schedule, we’ll be able to arrange them around your appointments.”

“What? W-What appointments?”

“Well, we’re going to schedule meetings with a couple therapists. Something is wrong with you, sweetheart, and we only want the best.” She squeezed his hand again and patted his other cheek delicately. “We love you.”

_I don’t love you too._

* * *

Getting the proper requests for homeschooling had been almost  _too_ quick, leading Touru to believe that they had been planning it for a while longer than they were letting on. In return, Touru endured one more week of school, where he was dropped off right on time so that he couldn’t find Shun or the others beforehand, and immediately afterschool was expected to come right out and get into the car. Shun had tried to catch up to him once, and Shigeru said something in class about fencing practice – but he wasn’t even allowed to attend that anymore. He settled in at home after the week was over while his parents finalized details and his new curriculum, and Monday brought about the beginnings of new, intensive lessons from his father and a speech therapy appointment, who found nothing wrong until Touru’s father came back into the room and he started stuttering again. They raised an eyebrow, but did nothing except work to figure out which words he fumbled and attempted to draft up a plan.

By Wednesday, he found himself missing school. And his friends, small and slight as they were. They hadn’t been anything to him at the beginning, and now they meant almost too much. His homework had been completely finished, and he had curled up onto a ball on his bed, almost crying. There was nothing he could do, but if only there was some way he could—

He sat up on his bed suddenly, looking to his school bag.  _My phone._  They hadn’t taken that, right? He lunged for his bag and tore at the zipper, prying it out and typing in Shun’s number. 

_“Hello Shun this is urgent are you there”_

His palms began to sweat as he waited for the reply. Three dots popped up, and were quickly replaced with,  _“yeah man what’s the matter where’s your prop grammar”_

Touru began to type out  _“Please help me I need you to—_ “ but suddenly the door swung open and his mother was there, a red pen in hand, as she was intending to look over his work. Her looming figure froze, looking from his face to his hands. In two strides she came over and pried the phone away, and Touru grabbed after it, but she kept moving, and Touru didn’t have the heart to follow her back out of the room. His hands could only clutch empty air before his upper body could stretch no further and he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

He tried his computer, but that was quickly taken. When he went to get ready for bed, he cast a glance down the stairwell to look at the telephone, but that was gone from its usual place on the table.

He was being locked into his house. 

_And there was nothing he could do about it._

* * *

Touru couldn’t handle being homeschooled anymore. Everything about his schedule was no longer independent – it was chosen by his parents and his tutors that came in. He was driven to the private fencing lessons that he was now receiving and whoever drove him didn’t leave until the lesson was over. He could feel his mother or father’s eyes boring into his back, causing his form to be sloppy. He always heard them pacing outside his room as they assigned him mountains of work, enough to keep him occupied. And each time as they made sure he was in bed, they repeated that same mantra – “Good work, and good night.”

The final straw had been taking away his phone. It had been locking his door and windows. When they pulled him out of the school and his life that he had begun to finally live.

The bedroom around him was practically buzzing with how quiet it was. There was nothing there and his ears were almost making their own sounds, as if to fill the dead silence with something, anything—!

_Why are you still here?_

Touru’s pencil stopped, and his eyes widened. The voice had been like a jolt – cold and loud, with a hiss to it. There was no way it had just been an imagination of his ear…

But there was nobody else in his room.

_Get out!_

“T-T-The door’s locked…” he whispered to the empty air, as if it was talking to him.

_That doesn’t matter. Pry it open. Call for help somehow. Break a window._

Touru paused at that last statement, looking towards the windows that overlooked the street. Despite the fact his parents had sealed the tops, and needed to be opened with keys… there was just one pane of glass.

Only one. 

_Get out of here! Don’t settle for this life of being locked away, of having your life run for you. Escape!_

Touru wondered how many times he would have to swing his textbook to break the window. The actions would have to be quick, and he would have to be prepared for the flying glass. Lifting up his heaviest book, he moved to the window as swiftly as possible. Once he took that first swing, he knew that there wouldn’t be much time.

_But he was going to escape._

* * *

_“Oh my God! Come here, quickly!”_

_“No, just come downstairs and outside, he’s—!”_

_“He’s_ smarter _than that, damn it! Didn’t we raise him in every way that was right? This is entirely unlike him.”_

_“We let those boys get to him… that was a mistake. I know that you should have spoken more with the teachers!”_

Touru felt almost weightless as he was lifted off the ground. He was barely aware of his surroundings, and as the seatbelt buckled around him, the gentle hum of the car lulled him to sleep until he felt someone prodding at his head and later, wrapping something around it.

_“These injuries are serious, and it seems that it was brought on by everything you mentioned. …You want to get him treated? Here, I know of a good place.”_

_“Thank you so much. We’re so sorry to trouble you.”_

_“It’s really no trouble at all.”_

Where was he going? Before he could hear more of the conversation, his body willed him to sleep again, and he found himself unable to wake up until much later.

* * *

Touru flung himself upward from his resting position when he woke up. The bed was metallic and unfamiliar. His surroundings were dim, but he could make out two other beds with two others in them. One was a person with long white hair, clutching closely to some sort of doll, while the other was splayed out across the bed, blond hair everywhere. 

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” The source of the voice was from the other side of the room, and Touru saw a man with a red tie smiling at him. Something disturbed him when the smile grew wider, but he pushed it aside. 

“Hello there… might I ask where I am?”

The man was silent, only watching Touru carefully as he began to look around.

“…If I’m not allowed to ask that, then c-c-can I ask why I’ve got such a headache—“ His hand went up to his head and felt the bloodied bandages there, sticky and wet to the touch. “Oh, that ex-explains a lot.” He began to tense his arm and draw it down his neck, but suddenly felt a biting pain in his upper arm, as if he had just gotten a shot. Moving his arm and pulling at the skin, he was just able to make out two small marks on his bicep. They were small and round, and he would have looked at them longer, but the man in the red tie began to speak again.

“Could I ask your name?”

“M-Me? It’s Touru.” 

“…All right. Touru, do you like spending time with your friends?”

He had been about to answer yes, but something in the back of his mind came forward like a wave and caused him to shake his head with a frown on his face. “No, they’re a waste of time.” 

“Do you really think that?”

“Of course. I’ve never needed them before, and I certainly don’t want them now. They’ll ruin my schedule. Speaking of that, I’ve probably missed so much work!”

“No, no, there’s no more school schedule.”

Touru blinked. “Really? But then… what am I supposed to do? How will I keep track of everything?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll draft up a new schedule for you.” The man in the red tie gave another smile as he rose out of his chair and walked towards the bed. A shiver ran down Touru’s spine at the sight as he drew closer – it was the smile that unnerved him. Something about it was incredibly unnatural. “The schedule will be one that you can make yourself, just for you.” 

 “…All right. That sounds wonderful.” 

 “We’re happy to have you here, Touru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song From The Album This Chapter Belongs To:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loPtKft9tQw&index=3&list=PLPkRdqN6NiQ1-KnDO3KGJHjwZ5ugoUVmR


	3. Dennou Kyou Ai Boy - Shun (Entry #5)

All the curtains were drawn in the room. Every light was off, save for the blue-tinted glow of a television, which lit up the face of the boy before it. His eyes were wide and bloodshot as they stared at the screen. On it was the image of a girl, with long dark hair and glasses. She was crossing her arms, a bead of sweat running down her cheek.

_“W-What are you doing to me?”_

Shun’s fingers rapidly moved the control stick, stroking it briefly as if it were something more intimate, clicking down to,  _“I’m just trying something new,_ ” but a sound distracted him briefly.

The door to his room had opened, letting in a small sliver of light. It was harmful, almost unnatural as it drew a line from his ceiling to the floor, leading back to where his mother had opened the door a crack.

Unmoved by her assumed presence, he hit the option he wanted, reading the text that followed with relish.  _I’ve made the right choice to pleasure her._

The door closed again, and the lady turned to the man who had been standing behind her. His head tilted slightly to the time, a frown on his face.

“Has he been like that the whole time?” The man blinked behind his glasses, puzzled by the scene he had just witnessed.

“It happened…” The lady sucked in a shaky breath, trying to regain her composure. It was always difficult to get over seeing her son like that.

“Please take your time, ma’am.”

With a sniff, she held her head high, trying to face the situation at hand.

“I’m not sure how it started… I can only give you a time when I started witnessing his behavior. …It was around that time the boy in his class killed himself.”

The man raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a small smile.

“Oh? Please do tell me more.”

* * *

“He’s dead, Shun. Didn’t you hear the rumors?”

Shun stared at the empty desk in their classroom. He’d grown steadily used to it the past two weeks, knowing that maybe Touru would come back, that there was no way his parents could do what they were most likely doing to him—

“They’re just rumors,” he bit back, but Masuda shook his head. “No, they’re not. His parents told the news stations and everything. There’s a funeral on Friday.”

Shun stared back, face showing an obvious state of disbelief. “That’s not  _like_ him,” he hissed, voice reaching a volume that the teacher could hear.

“But that’s what’s happened—“

“He  _wouldn’t_ —“

“Masuda! Shun!” The teacher looked to both of them accusingly, and Masuda leaned back with a huff into his chair, but Shun was fuming. He mulled over the news, knowing there was no way it could possibly be true.

Until lunchtime. There was the news article, with testimony from a neighbor who had heard the glass break as his parents collected him to drive him to the hospital.  _They didn’t even call 911_ , Shun thought with vehement anger.  _That’s probably why he died, because he didn’t receive proper treatment immediately._

The obituary notice was online as well, and Shun instantly asked Masuda and Shigeru if they wanted to attend. But they both informed him they were busy with practice and wouldn’t be able to go after school. Shun briefly considered accusing them of not caring, but bit his tongue and nodded. “All right, that’s fine.”

Later that week, he went home and changed into a suit jacket and pants, pulling his usual messy hair back into a ponytail. He breathed a sigh, trying to be sure if this was proper. Had he been close enough to attend the funeral?

He had to be, right? And he wanted to apologize to Touru, apologize for everything he could not do. Shun made it to the bus and rode it down into town, double-checking the address on his phone before heading inside, following the crowd of people into a large room. He saw the casket, and instantly felt like tearing up. There was no way Touru was in there. Why was he in there? He couldn’t be dead – they were burying him too early—!

He saw his parents next to the casket, speaking with each of the people in turn as they gave their condolences. Shun did his best to avoid them, simply trying to get up to the casket, wanting to say something and quietly leave…

“Keep that boy out!” A man’s voice boomed through the still silence, and Shun turned to see Touru’s father pointed an accusing finger in his direction. “He’s the one responsible for killing my son!”

“What the hell!” Shun’s face briefly turned to one of confused disgust, but then the entire crowd looked to him, their faces showing the same expression as they judged him. They didn’t even know him, and they probably had no idea about Touru either, what he had been, how he had acted around them when they were hanging out –!

“Get him out of here!” His father kept pointing, while the mother moved to escort Shun out, taking up his arm in a similar fashion to how he remembered Touru’s in the café. He now understood why it had bothered him. Her nails dug into the underside of his arm, threatening to tear his suit jacket apart and rip at his skin.

As he was pulled out, he heard the people around him commenting, saying that he was an awful boy, and how badly he must have bullied Touru, what he must have said and done to drive a boy to the point of suicide…!

The funeral home garden was a painful sight as he was shoved out the door, gripping his arm as he hoped there weren’t new indentations in his flesh.

“Never come back. Never see us. Do not contact us. Our boy isn’t here anymore because of  _you_.”

Shun trembled as he walked home, too numb to wait for a bus, unable to form the words to call for a ride. His fingers were hardly able to hold his phone, and the pain in his upper arm was too much. He was sure there wasn’t bleeding, but there would be bruises. The words from the funeral home kept echoing in his mind, and how badly they had all misunderstood him… he had just wanted to talk to Touru one last time. To tell him everything was all right, that he was going to be far happier wherever he was now.

Shun wanted to tell him that he was sorry, for being a thick-skulled idiot, unable to see the signs, who refused to listen when Touru needed him most, and hiding in cowardice when he debated approaching Touru’s house to confront his family directly. He could have changed everything. He could have made all the right choices, had life just given him the time and chance.

When he got home, he attempted to settle at his desk and do his homework. Math was fine, as was biology. They were a distraction enough from his guilt and thoughts, but they didn’t stop buzzing in the back of his mind. And they especially didn’t stay quiet when he looked to his English homework.

English. That was where he had begun to get to know Touru, where they’d first begun to bond over that powerpoint. The project hadn’t felt the same, and he was sure the A they had received was given to them out of pity.

Shun shoved the English homework aside, deciding it might be better to take a break, play a game and clear his mind.

The game he started up was one about a mystery – where if you didn’t pick the right choices, everyone, including you, would die. Your best friend had joined you in your quest… and Shun felt a pang of familiarity when he saw the boy on screen.

They had glasses. Their hair was brown, but the glasses were square-framed and he was wearing a sweater vest.

You could pick your friend’s name.

His fingers moved as fast as they could to type out  _T-O-U…_

* * *

Shun had begun to depend on video games as a means of coping. He kept on buying more games after beating others. The second his homework was done, he would jump onto a system and begin to play whatever was inside, looking for the character that he wanted to save, whose route he wanted to complete.

There was something he could appreciate in games that real life didn’t offer. Games gave him the time to make a choice. He often reflected back on that moment when Touru’s father came to take him away. In those late hours of the night, when there were no videogames to occupy his senses, but the blessing of sleep hadn’t come for him yet, he would imagine something he could have done differently. Each scenario was better than the last. He could imagine making his words stronger, picking those perfect sentences to argue against Touru’s father. Every reply was paced and perfect and without fear. He saw himself even fighting, struggling against him in the café to save Touru.

To have the time to make a choice. That was what videogames offered. And he became obsessed with making the right one every single time.

The first time he made a wrong choice and got a bad ending for a girl (with dark hair, and round glasses), he cried, and then proceeded to lock himself in his room and play the entire game through again, not waking up for school the next day. His neck was stiff, his eyes were bloodshot, and all throughout his bones he felt exhaustion.

The second time it happened, in a different game, the girl died. It did not give the promised ending that the walkthrough had said. What had he done  _wrong?_

That day, Shun cried. Throughout the night he was left with feelings of guilt, of horrible turmoil that he couldn’t save her. He eventually was able to take it out of the system and throw it away. He couldn’t go back. She was gone, and he had made the wrong choice.

The games began to take up all his waking hours. He kept consuming more and more, buying them up and extending his casual taste to something on par with an obsession. There were games on his shelf he normally would not have ever dreamed of buying. Every hour he spent attempting to do schoolwork or doing chores was an hour wasted away from getting the right storyline. He began to be unable to go outside, as sunlight became too harsh on his eyes without sunglasses. He hated that anxious feeling where he was unable to make a choice in time, from the mundane idea of crossing the street when there were no cars to the sensation of what he wanted to eat. There was no  _time_ , there was nothing that stopped all the world so he could think.

In response, hid himself away, never going to school, not leaving his house for any social event or even shopping. His mother became concerned when she couldn’t open his door, or when she was cleaning his room and found those games that he had stashed away behind his collection, appalled but saying nothing.

Until it was too late.

* * *

“Shun?”

He hadn’t heard her voice in days. He whipped around to face his mother, eyes squinting at the yellow glow of the hallway light.

“The doctor’s come to talk to you.” She walked over to him and knelt down, attempting to ease the controller of his hands. Shun looked out to see a man standing there, making eye contact. The doctor gave a bright smile and a wave in response.

“Shun, dear, we have to go. He’s going to help you get better.”

“No.” He held the controller fast as she attempted to yank it from his hands, retreating backwards. His head hit the television, knowing full well what was on it, a body that he wanted to touch, to truly  _feel_  with his own two hands, to touch that long dark hair and—

“Shun…” The doctor walked in next, nose crinkling at the smell but saying nothing about it. He knelt down as well, tapping his fingers together as he debated what to say. “I need you to come with me, we’re going to take you to a place… you can bring your portable system along. Remember to pack the charger and a few games.”

The boy dropped the controller, nodding as he began to collect a few things. His mother stared, a little awestruck by how easily the doctor had been able to coax Shun into coming along with him. It had to be his tone of voice – quiet and gentle, reassuringly kind.

In about five minutes, and a promise that she could visit so long as she called ahead and that they would provide for him, Shun was off with the doctor, uninterested in where he was going as he started up a new game, picking the same girl as he always did. She had short cropped hair, dark in color, and was the “tsundere” archtype – one he had found himself drawn to. Even if he had all her pictures, a majority of her lines memorized, and the exact route for each ending etched into his mind, he still went for her. 

Every. Single. Time.

He only kept his hood up and stared at his system because the light from outside was harsh. He couldn’t remember the sunset ever hurting his eyes before. The brilliant light it was letting out was painful, and the sound of a car motor was even almost too much.

His neck was stiff. His eyes were sore. The car smelled entirely foreign and different, like a disinfectant. He hated hearing all the sounds and eventually dropped the gaming system, putting his hands over his ears when a particularly loud car roared by them. At that, the doctor pulled over for a moment, beginning to dig around for a pair of earbuds and holding them out to Shun, who accepted them gratefully and slipped them in, turning up the volume in full.

The rest of the ride was silent, until the doctor pulled up to a building and got out of the car, moving to open Shun’s door as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man with a red tie walk up to the vehicle, a smirk on his face as he spoke to the doctor. He didn’t care for the conversation, but caught snippets of it anyway.

_“For me? …. Oh… I’ll remember…”_

_“Just… and don’t forget… of course not… the medication, yes…”_

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Shun got out of the car, pulling a single earbud out and continuing to play his game as he was instructed to follow the man with the red tie, who was apparently his caretaker. They walked down a few hallways before coming to a doorway, where Shun glanced up to see what was inside.

The first thing he saw was a boy dancing in the center of the room, to seemingly no music. His movements were erratic and wild, the smile on his face stretching skin. On the floor, another boy with elegant white hair was watching him, playing with a doll that looked like it had seen better days. And sitting in a chair, staring off into space until the door opened, was a boy with glasses and a bandage around his head. He stood instantly upon seeing who arrived, moving quickly across the room.

“Sh-Sh-Shun!” He stuttered out, staring at him with a shocked state of disbelief. “Wh-wh-why are you—“

The boy walked by him without a second glance, ignoring his questions. He was completely absorbed in their game, looking at the girl on the screen. She was calling the player her friend.

 _Her route is the most emotional if you don’t play it right._ Shun thought.  _But I can save her. I can help her. I can have her._

_I can make the right choices now._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song From The Album This Chapter Belongs To:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzXshcsMAyg&index=4&list=PLPkRdqN6NiQ1-KnDO3KGJHjwZ5ugoUVmR


	4. Ningyou Aizou Boy - Hinata (Entry #7)

Hinata trudged home, finding the house empty once again. His mother hadn’t ever been out this much - or this late - before. She always used to be at the door, greeting him with a smile and a kiss when he came home. Her same old excuse was that he was in high school now, and didn’t need those little reminders that she loved him each day. **  
**

That was crap, and he knew it. It never explained why she wasn’t home, but he never had the heart to say it was a lie to her face. It would ruin the chances of ever getting affection again if he was rude towards her. But that didn’t stop him from defying her in little ways: showing up late to dinner, ignoring her phone calls - even if he was available to answer them - or saying “neither” when she asked about an outfit to wear out that night.

Why she couldn’t also just ask his father or his brother, he had no idea. His father was always busy in his office, doing some sort of intense work. She barely went inside to see him anymore, and Hinata hardly ever saw him either, except for the rare dinner or passing by the bathroom before bed. Because other than that, he was always out at the archery range, alongside his twin brother, who his father saw great potential in for inheriting his archery talents - since his father had broken his arm in an accident and never been able to shoot the same way again.

His father’s time out of the office was always spent in the company of his twin. So Hinata was left with his mother, who he loved with all his heart.

She always said she still loved him, too, when Hinata asked. But he knew that was bullshit. He knew when she was lying - he had picked up on her little ticks a long time ago. Hinata kept the secret of knowing to himself, never telling her the signs - so that she would never change her habits.

However, he couldn’t figure out what was bothering him about these late nights and her empty words. He took to waiting in his room, hitting the light switch when he heard a car door slam and drive away, the front door opening moments after the gate. His mother always gave him the good grace of poking her head in to check on him, and he would always feign sleep. She never questioned him for it. 

Except tonight. 

“Hinata, could you sit up for a moment?”

He remained totally still, hoping she would go away. There was no way she could have known that he was almost always awake when she came home. 

“I just want to talk to you for a moment. You can still sleep.” She stepped inside and sat down on the edge of his bed, a hand reaching out to gingerly touch his leg. Hinata thought to recoil from the gesture, but instead resisted the urge. Was he even breathing in this moment?

“I love you very much, and know that your father does, too. He loves you and your brother equally.”

_Where is this going?_

“I want you remember that, Hina, dear. Even if something happens between us.” He heard a small noise - a hiccup? - before she patted his leg twice and stood to leave. Hinata dared himself to crack open an eye, and watched her support herself on the doorframe as she left the room.  What was up with her? Turning over, he simply tried to fall back asleep.

With her voice echoing at the back of his mind, it wasn’t easy. 

* * *

The train rides home were boring. Hinata had neglected to charge his phone the previous night, so there was nothing to occupy his mind on the train. He didn’t have a book, or anything he particularly wanted to do anyway. So he found other means of distracting himself from his own thoughts until he reached his destination.

He read all the ads across the top of the train car, looking at each one in turn, even the little fine print that sat beneath every declarative title. Then he looked to people around the train, at the fronts of magazines and newspapers, but found those fonts too small to read. All he could pick out were the headlines and subtitles, speaking of some great accomplishment or grand disaster. He felt the boredom creeping up again as he ran out of material - but then a man with dark hair took the seat next to him and flicked a newspaper open, allowing Hinata a clear view of the stories within.

He read them all as best he could; but the man could read a little faster. They got through a couple pages before turning to the ads page, which they paused to look at. Hinata’s eyes were drawn down to a small ad, tucked towards the bottom – clearly the people who paid to have it in there didn’t have much money.

_“Join our research study – we are studying the human mind and how to cure mental disorders such as multiple personality, obsessive-compulsive, and schizophrenia. Call the number below and ask for the “Jigokugata” project, at…”_

Hinata read it once, twice, three times, memorizing the number and names before the page flipped over. He moved to dig through his bag for a sheet of paper, with intent to write it down. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to have this information, but he scrawled out the name and numbers anyway, tucking it back into his pocket as the train rolled to a stop.

* * *

_When was the last time I got home earlier than Mom?_ Hinata paused over his ceremonial tea set, staring at the dolls before him. While they could not answer his questions, their practically-human appearance was comforting. They were a part of his mother’s favorite collection - a set of four elegantly dressed geisha dolls, with real silken robes and sleek black hair. He often stared at their make-up and at the way they folded their hands while they kneeled. And despite their connection to her, their lips did not part to speak of lies or love.

But he could give the answer himself anyway. _I’m not early. She’s extremely late._

As if on cue, he heard the trademark slam outside the gates of the complex, followed by the sound of rusted hinges. Hinata carefully placed his teapot down, excusing himself from the ceremony as he stood, listening to the sound of the door opening as his mother stepped inside, easing her high-heeled shoes off. The bag slung off her shoulder next, and Hinata wondered if she even knew he was there.

Judging by her expression when she turned, she didn’t. Her entire body froze, save for her eyes, which glanced at the clock nearby. 

“It’s two in the morning, Hina. Why are you still awake?”

“I was waiting for you,” he said politely, hands clasped in front of him. “I wanted to say good night.” 

There was a look of guilt on her face that passed in a moment, but Hinata saw it nonetheless, and relished in it’s existence.  _Maybe she’ll think twice, now._

“I’m sorry. You can always go to the range and ask your father for that,” she murmured, padding across the floor towards him, gently kissing his forehead and taking him by the shoulders. “Time to sleep. You’re lucky it’s the weekend, and you don’t have school tomorrow.”

“You are lucky you don’t have work tomorrow, and neither does Dad.” 

“…Yes, I am.” Her grip slackened, and Hinata pulled out of it easily, moving back to his teaset to pack things up. His mother watched him with a tentative gaze, before licking her lips and rubbing the nape of her neck. “Hina, dear, whatever you think is happening, it really isn’t…” 

Hinata paused, for just a moment, before continuing to place the teacups into the box and emptying the leftover tea back into the pot. “That’s a lie.” His own voice didn’t sound like it belonged to him as he uttered those words, the tone a low growl.  

“You know it’s not…” 

The teaset clinked together in the box, the porcelain echoing inside as plates were stacked. The final object was the teapot. Hinata stood to go empty it out in the kitchen, passing his mother by without a word. 

“Don’t assume things, Hinata!” She snapped then, facing him. Hinata spun around, seeing his mother with wild eyes. Her hands rolled into fists, and her voice rose to a threatening pitch. “You don’t know anything!” 

In the next moment, Hinata wasn’t aware what happened. He just saw the pot flying across the room - which he had obviously thrown but did not recall doing - then watched as it hit his mother’s hands and arms, which barely moved to protect her face in time. Cuts blossomed as the shards shattered and lukewarm tea spilled down her clothes, staining everything it touched. 

And for a brief moment, he felt pride. It was quickly smothered by something more  _rational_ as he rushed to his mother’s aid, using his sleeves as best he could until she demanded he go get a towel or cloth. By the time he returned, he found her in a fit of tears, crying into her wounds. Hinata could only kneel down and do his best to fix  _her_ … his… mistake.

* * *

HInata was alone in the house for the weekend. His father was taking his mother with him on a competition trip, saying he “didn’t want to go without her by his side”. He also dragged his brother along, wanting him to see a competition in the flesh. They left Hinata  completely alone in the house.

_Did they just forget about me?_

Shoving the cynicism aside, he used the silence of the house to practice his tea ceremony in the garden. Going to his mother’s doll room, he began to collect the dolls up to take them outside. Not the beautiful ones - those could get dirty or damaged. He took the slightly cracked ones, those that didn’t look at all human, but like false mockeries, with flawless skin and nice clothes. They held themselves stiffly and never moved quite right. 

However, they did well for Hinata’s outside ceremony, where he sat in the garden and conducted it with the element of slight wind and bugs moving to disrupt his focus or the flow of tea. It was excellent practice. Until a sound out of sight caused his concentration to break entirely.

The car door sounded like a gunshot to Hinata’s ears, and he turned to see the man outside the gate, peering through and glaring at Hinata.

“Who’re you, you snot-nosed brat?”

Hinata had half a mind to tell the man he was in high school, but said nothing, instead staring at the man with even eyes. 

“Where’s the lady who lives here? You her servant or something?”

“I’m her son,” Hinata said smoothly, placing the teapot down. “Do you need something?”

The man’s face paled. “Oh, no. Nothing. I was supposed to pick her up, y’know-”

“She’s not here.” Hinata stood now, the full force of his glare aimed at the man. His hand twitched, suddenly feeling the lack of any sort of object. “Go away.”

“Kid, I’m sorry, all right, lemme… lemme make it up. Don’t say a word, okay? Just, don’t.” With that, the man bolted back to his car and drove away, still feeling the shiver from his gaze. 

Hinata didn’t stop watching until the car was out of sight through the fence, before turning back and kneeling at the tea table once again.

“Where were we?”

* * *

It was their final day together, and Hinata knew it. The signs were all there,  and if a shred of doubt popped up in his mind, it was crushed like a bug under his heel. He couldn’t begin to have any concerns about his mother. It would be his last chance to convince her to stay, so he had to remain calm today - never allowing his personality to take hold of him. 

He had seen the suitcases that morning, when he went by his mother’s bedroom to take the dolls to practice his tea ceremony. She had tucked them away, out of sight, but he knew what they were there for. And just like her ticks, he chose not to mention them. He hadn’t even told her of the man who showed up at the gate. That was another piece of information for him and him alone. 

His mother and him had a wonderful time -  _as best as one could fake laughter and happiness, anyway_  - going on rides and playing the fair games. He actually won a small, mass-produced doll, one that his mother said could be the start of his own collection jokingly. 

 _It looks like her_ , Hinata mused, holding it up as they waited in line for the ferris wheel. She noticed him comparing and gave a smile, moving to rub his hair. He had the urge to tear her hand away, but when her sleeve pulled back, showcasing the scars from the teapot, decided against it. 

They boarded the carriage together, and the ferris wheel beginning to crank. Hinata watched the ground move away, steadily and slowly. His mother and him remained completely silent, watching the night sky around them. It seemed darker as they crossed the top of the ride, with fewer lights from the park reaching up that high. It quickly came back again as they went around, and Hinata waited another revolution.

They reached the apex twice more, but kept moving around in a circle, never stopping. His mother had been eerily quiet, staring out the side of the carriage, arm propped to support her chin.

“I saw the suitcases.” 

Hinata had been forward - there was no way around it, blunt was best - but his mother didn’t react at all. She sat still, eyes never wavering from the direction she had chosen to look in. Had she even heard him? Hinata moved to say it again, but wheel lurched to a stop, causing him to stumble over his words. He heard a car opening, a couple getting out and a family getting inside. He leaned back to listen to them, but his mother finally spoke.

“Your father’s leaving for another competition, with Sousuke.” She finally said, simply, and the ferris wheel began to crank again, going in that same circular pattern, never getting anywhere fast. 

“He just went to one, with you. Is he taking you again? Is that why they’re your suitcases?”

His mother looked to him, beginning to sit up straight. “Hinata.”

“Mother.”

“This isn’t what you think, all right? I don’t know what ridiculous notion you have in your head, but there’s nothing happening. Your father and I are happy and I am happy to be here with you.” 

Hinata stared at her from across the carriage. “You’re lying to me again. Stop that.” 

“I’m not, Hina!” She gave that warm motherly smile - _disgusting_  - and her voice sounded soft. There was nothing forced about it… but then again, she had been lying to him and his father for two years. His fist tightened around the doll, it’s neck threatening to snap. 

“I don’t like it, I don’t like hearing it.” Hinata choked out a sob, and it rang pitifully in his ears as the ferris wheel grinded to a halt. 

“Then, don’t listen. Look at the view. We’re on the top again.” 

Hinata forced his eyes open, looking out over the park. Everyone looked so small… so far away. The size of dolls, details of their faces and clothes lost to distance. 

His mother was closer. She had dressed up tonight - he could see the make-up on her lips, the shirt made of finer material… even the way she held herself was different. She had grown more confident, she had grown more brash and grown more proud. This was her peak.

And this was where he wanted it to end. Hinata’s hand released the doll’s neck and reached out for the other’s. It was smooth as glass, without a blemish or mark. The same shade as the ones she collected and loved so much. 

He wondered if she broke like those dolls as well. 

_“I don’t want to hear it ever again.”_

His mother turned to face him, and her eyes widened at seeing Hinata so close, so threatening. His expression was almost unreadable - all she could discern was the sudden sense of fear, trying move away from the claws that were extending towards her throat. In a beat, Hinata knew that she figured it out. 

She was trapped.

So in response, his mother did something he didn’t expect from her delicate frame -  _she fought back._  Her hands gripped his wrists right before they reached her neck, leaving them struggling as they gripped at the empty air, millimeters from her. Quickly, he retaliated, moving his hands down and out of her grasp and pulling her shoulder next, getting her to look down at the side of the car, at the ground below. Hinata moved next to slam his elbow down, making impact with her neck easily. She coughed painfully, and leaned further out of the car, out of her seat now. Too easy to tip over and out.

_Does she break?_

He would know in mere moments as she fell.

…

..

.

The people on the ground screamed. 

And Hinata screamed too. His mother was gone. 

_If I couldn’t have her, nobody else can._

The ferris wheel moved slowly - too slowly - as everyone disembarked, attempting to take photos or steal a glance at the body, which was being quickly covered by a makeshift tarp from employees. Hinata was called out as the boy who was in the carriage with her. He wanted to push away from them, but the staff forced him to stay until the paramedics and emergency services came. 

By the time the police had shown up to ask questions, Hinata had felt his murderous intent vanish completely, replaced with severe anxiety at the act he had just committed. Their first glance, based on the son’s frozen figure and mother’s manner of death was implied suicide. 

But it was only a matter of time before they figured it out. Even if he didn’t say a word, they would still know. Witnesses. Marks on her body. Marks on his. The point of impact - something,  _anything_ would tip them off. He had to leave. He had to get out of this scenario -  _out of this life._

An officer gave him a clear to walk around but not go too far. However, they weren’t doing a thing to stop him as he ditched the scene and kept moving, going through the exit. After going across the parking lot towards the train station, he pulled out his phone. 50% battery. That would take him to where he wanted to go, so long as the place was still there. 

The train ride was crowded, having all the people coming home from work then. But as the ride crept on towards the last stop, heading towards the slums of the city, more and more people got off, and fewer rode it to the end. Hinata bent down in his seat towards the last stop, removing his shoes and leaving them on his seat. 

He didn’t need them anymore.

* * *

Hinata stumbled  into the facility. His bare feet were covered in cuts and scrapes, all of them most likely infected. His breathing was ragged, his hair matted and knotted – everything about his very presence was unkempt, save for the doll in his hand and his almost-porcelain face, devoid of any real emotion.

He wasn’t sure why his feet had drawn him here, instead of perhaps a hospital or doctor’s office. He had stared at the lone, rent-for-a-month office building many times online, thinking what it must be like inside. What they were doing for people.

Hinata moved through the two sets of glass doors and found himself in a slightly darkened space, with bare walls and a couple wooden benches. In one corner, a man sat in a folding chair at a cheap card table, reading a newspaper. He looked up as the boy approached.

Hinata froze when the man’s face came into full view, his somber features stirring a memory in the back of his mind. He knew him.  _He knew him._

“…Can I help you?” He had quickly shaken off his initial excitement at seeing someone, attempting to fold his newspaper away so he could focus on the new client. 

Hinata’s eyes narrowed as he something stirred in his mind. The rustle of newspaper. Drooped eyelids, and the hair -

“You’re the man from the train…!” Hinata choked out.

The man with the somber face blinked twice, seemingly confused. He then sighed and shook off the comment. “I’m sure you’re confusing me for someone else. Unless you’re the type to remember people on trains. Now, what are you here for?”

“I’m here to turn myself in for the… the…” He pulled the paper from a pocket and turned it over, reading the name aloud. “The Jigokugata project.”

“Oh, that.” The man’s mouth twisted into a smile. “I’m new here, so let me call someone else for you.” He reached out to the phone and began to dial a few numbers, placing it to his ear. “What should I tell them that you’re here for?”

“Because I killed someone in a past life and would like a new one.”

The man stared, briefly surprised, before someone on the other end of the line answered and prompted his response. “Hello? Yes, doctor, sorry. … No, a boy’s just arrived. High school. … Killed a man. …Yes, two in one day is very good, I’d agree, a lost boy and a killer… All right, I’ll have him wait here.” He hung up and laced his fingers together on the desk. “Don’t worry. With that, I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the rest of them.”

“Can I be cured?”

“It depends on how badly you want to be.”

Hinata was silent, his shoulders drooping. He hardly heard anything else until someone came through a doorway and began to escort him through the winding hallways, back further and further… until he wasn’t sure which way was out anymore.

And that wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song From The Album This Chapter Belongs To:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGW6tXNuzPc&list=PLPkRdqN6NiQ1-KnDO3KGJHjwZ5ugoUVmR&index=5


	5. Mousou Shikkan Yami Boy - Hideki (Entry #2)

Hideki stared at the doorway to the classroom before him. The sign beside it read “3-B”, and he could hear the sounds of someone typing away at a computer inside. With a deep breath, he recited his introduction once again, whispering it to himself. 

“My name is Hideki, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I am honored to be working with you as your teaching assistant.” Nodding once, he pushed the door open, the man at the desk turning to face him. He gave a brilliant smile at seeing Hideki, standing to greet him and shake his hand in a forceful motion.

“Hello! It’s a great honor to meet you, truly, I’m so happy to finally have a TA of my own!” Hideki was bombarded by the man’s enthusiastic attitude, the rehearsed words slipping away from him faster than he could catch. 

“I-It’s a great honor to meet you… S-sir-”

“Don’t bother with the stuffy formalities,” The man gave a wave of the hand. “Call me Viktor, I hate hearing the students call me by a title all day.”

“V-Viktor, then.” He hadn’t ever heard of such a loose sense of formality in a high school setting, but supposed it was different in a private school location - perhaps things were simply just different than the public schools he had attended.

“Exactly! There you go, Hideki. Easy, isn’t it?” His smile was brilliant, showing a set of sharp canines that caused Hideki to pause. “Oh, you looking at these?” He instantly frowned, closing his lips again. “Never mind them; I’ve always been a little unnatural. Bit of a loose cannon, if I’m to quote an old co-worker.” 

“Mm.” Hideki still wasn’t sure what to make of the man. “I look forward to learning to teach under you, sir… Viktor.”

“And I look forward to teaching you. I’m usually around, so ask me any questions you like!”

“Of course.” Hideki gave a nod. “Thank you!” 

* * *

_First rule: Viktor lies._

As he stared down at his e-mail server - displaying a response from Viktor no more than ten words long - and then glancing to the empty 3-B classroom before him, he knew something was up. And he would he damned if he let this continue.

 _Viktor’s out on a trip. I’ve been here three weeks, just observing, and he’s out. On. A. Trip._ With a growl, he turned out of the room, slamming the door behind himself as he marched to the staff room, looking around for anybody who would answer his question: where was Viktor really?

However, he was met with laughs and smiles from all the people he met. “Viktor? Oh, out on a trip again… he does that.” 

_This is a monthly occurrence?_

“What do you think it was this time? Think he was a historical consultant? Did he tell you?”

_No, he didn’t. He didn’t tell me a damn thing._

“Oh, just talk to the principal if you’re so concerned about a substitute. He’ll assign one; there’s always one on the ready for Viktor, honestly.”

_The principal doesn’t even yell at him for this!_

His worst fears were confirmed as he found himself sitting in the stiff wooden chair before the principal’s mighty oak desk, his phone constantly vibrating against the surface until he moved to mute it. 

“Sorry, I have two meetings in the next hour about our students, so can we make this quick, Mr. Hideki?”

“Of course, sir. I just need a substitute for Viktor’s class - he’s left on a trip, and if what I’ve heard is correct, he’s left  _again_ …”

“Oh, has he? Off his usual schedule then… well, Mr. Hideki, I don’t see the problem, then.”

“What?” 

“He has a substitute already!” 

“…No, sir, he really doesn’t.” 

The principal blinked at him, then gave a hearty laugh. “Are you really that low in your self-confidence, Mr. Hideki? You! You are fully capable of leading the class, and we’ll even pay you for your time if that is what you need…”

His head shot up at the mention of getting paid - the thoughts of the phone calls and bangs on the door from the landlord fading into a distant memory. He didn’t have the heart to tell his parents the rent had gone up, thinking that his savings might last… and if the pay from here was good…

“I… Would you pay me?”

“Of course! Viktor even suggested as such when he decided he wanted to have you as his teaching assistant. I would be inclined to agree in this case.”

“Then… I can do it.” 

“Wonderful!” Hideki could have sworn he heard a heavy sigh of relief, but it was quickly dampened by a flash of a smile and rapid shake of his hand. “Now, functions to attend, you have classes to teach! I’ll arrange a meeting in a week and we can discuss more later.” 

He was pushed out the office, the principal vanishing as he strolled into another meeting room, and Hideki began to walk back to the classroom, his original elation rapidly diminishing into severe stress. He had no idea where Viktor was in the material, exactly, and that he knew the boys were occasionally rowdy and might not listen to him. 

If he could handle  _homework_. Attendance? How long would Viktor be gone for? The staff said it was anywhere from three days to three weeks at a time. He might have to give them exams, papers, assignments, completely grade their tests and evaluate what they needed. 

And he had all his homework, his rent to think about, if he would still need another job if the TA pay wasn’t enough, he had his weekly college classes to attend, his thesis to consider-

Hideki opened the door to the classroom, and every student turned to face him. Their looks were almost judgemental, and Hideki felt himself falter at the scene before him. This would be uncharted territory, of addressing a class of students, to talk clearly and perfectly articulate his words with minimal trouble… for a moment, he felt like turning and walking out right then, but he quickly brushed the beginnings of tears away, holding tight onto what little composure he had left.

“Hello, class, you might know me as your teaching assistant, but until Viktor gets back, I’ll be your teacher. Can we go over what you were working on last week…”

* * *

Hideki slammed his head into the table, wincing at the pain as the bridge of his glasses dug into his nose. “Not worth it,” he muttered, eyes flicking back up to his taunting computer screen. He watched the cursor blink at his half-assed reply to a professor, with excuses and apologies for his flighty instructor and how he had to take over their class. As he stared, he watched another e-mail ping in - one from a professor he had already e-mailed about a delay in attending classes, and they were completely understanding of the situation. His eyes flicked over the empty-sounding words of praise, saying how he was “already getting field experience” and “what a great plus it is!” 

 _They have no idea_. Hideki loathed the very idea of the job, since he hadn’t expected to be thrown into it so unexpectedly after starting at the academy. His fingers curled into a fist on his trackpad, feeling the urge to once again pound into it, but he bit it back, not wanting to break his computer. Instead, he just felt dazed, as if he was out of breath. A hand moved to his mouth to bite at his fingers, reading and rereading the e-mail before him over and over again.

This was supposed to be a positive time. They were in the right, he was gaining something from it, and to add to the festivities, the only reason he was home right now was because Viktor had come back from Europe and told him to take the rest of the week off… without being briefed on where his class had left off at all. That irked Hideki, somehow - the teacher didn’t even seem to care for his students, despite what they often said about him being a well-rounded and knowledgeable person. It didn’t make  _sense_ , and there was so much else that Hideki already had to worry about. He had his own education, his grades, his other classes and work, and keeping himself alive through microwave meals and an internet connection - he had said good-bye to his social life long ago, his classmates being the only source of human interaction he felt anymore.

_This is utter bullshi-_

As he was about to slam his head down again, he heard his e-mail notification ping. Weary eyes flicked over and the subject line - and despite the fact it was something so brief and non-offensive, it proved enough to make him vomit.

_“Willing to Speak to Class About Experience?”_

His fingers flew to the keyboard, instantly drafting out a reply at how he absolutely  _couldn’t_ , that no way in  _hell_  would he even consider doing the talk-

Then he froze. His entire body tensed up and he took a shuddering breath, stretching his fingers and relaxing them against the keyboard. What was he supposed to do? He should be attending that class anyway, and if Viktor was back and  _stayed back_  then there was no reason he couldn’t make it. 

It was just another bullet on his list, another cog in the machine of his schedule. All of this was to benefit him and his future. They were right - this could only help him. With that thought in mind, he moved to slide his hair out of his face with a calm breath, deleting all that he had just written and going to type a far more formal, scripted message.

_Dear Professor…_

* * *

_It’s a better time than never._

Hideki had had it with Viktor’s erratic behavior. He hated the way he never seemed to care about life, the way he would find the teasing notes on his desk when he left for a trip or read the e-mails he would send on the plane ride. And he always returned like nothing had happened. 

Hideki was sick of it.

“Viktor.” Hideki cornered him in the evening - it was the only time that Viktor was guaranteed to be there. He found him as if he hadn’t just returned from yet another vacation, grading papers at his desk and reading them over. Did he even know what they had done in class?

“Hideki?” Viktor looked up at him, his gaze showing confusion. “What’s the matter?”

“This!” He gestured to the desk, disbelief clear in his tone. “You’re just  _sitting here!_ Grading papers! Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone!’

“Yes, I do. A week and a half. You’ve been following the curriculum quite well, honestly-”

“You can’t possibly know what the hell I’ve been doing in class! You just up and leave, without a second thought! It’s like… it’s like you don’t even  _care_ , do you even want to teach? Or do you want to travel and be your damn flighty self?” 

Viktor moved to stand, rising slowly. “Hideki, wait-”

“ _No!_ Dammit, Viktor, you have no idea how fucking easy my friends have it! They’re still in their observations, with time in their life to write their papers, and not a care in the world about much else! You have done nothing but stress me further, pushing me over this edge of work, I hardly sleep at night anymore, there’s no  _point_ in sleeping even, when I have to get so much  _work_ -”

“ _Hideki._ ” Viktor’s calm tone, unaffected by Hideki’s violent accusations, pushed through. The pause was only brief, just a moment-

“ _Viktor,_ ” he spat back, “you pompous… useless… excuse.” 

He was silent, staring down at the boy before him, before giving a sigh. “Hideki. Go wash your face, you look like a mess.”

“I’m not  _done_  with you-”

“ _Now._ ” Viktor moved and gave his shoulder a push, causing Hideki to stumble back towards the door. “Go, then come back to me.”

He almost thought to bite back with a reply, but held his tongue, stalking out of the room and moving towards the bathroom, kicking the door open and chewing at his nails, thinking on all the ways he could tell Viktor off, all the ways he could report and get him fired…

Then he saw himself in the mirror. He did a double take upon seeing it, as if he was finally registering it for the first time. 

He looked  _exhausted_. He looked  _dead_. The bags under his eyes were practically purple, and his face sunken. His hair was matted to his forehead and he could see his fingers, with jagged nails and ink stains. He couldn’t remember the last time he had washed his sweatshirt and pants, and if his glasses had always been so dirty and crooked. With a shaking touch, he removed them, staring again at his eyes. 

_Dead._

With that, he bent down to the sink, splashing the cool water on his face and drying it off with paper towels, leaving the bathroom far quieter than he had entered, meandering back to the classroom.

“Viktor?” He poked his head in, face solemn and asking for forgiveness. “I’m gonna head home now.”

Viktor glanced up from his papers, giving Hideki a warm smile, reassuring and almost comforting, somehow.. “All right. See you later, then.” 

Hideki nodded, brushing his bangs back and gathering his bags up onto his sagging shoulders. “Mhm. Don’t stay too late.”

Viktor let out a barking laugh. “I’ll be settling in for a late night; lots to catch up on if you’re not gonna be here.” His fingers moved to loosen his dark tie, pulling it away from his neck and undoing his top button. “Just stay home tomorrow and over the weekend, all right?”

“All right.” He dragged his feet as he left the room,  trudging down the hallway and  out the glass doors of the school. The sun had already set, leaving the streetlamps as his only source of light for getting home. Cars slowly drove through the narrow city streets, pulling into driveways as they returned home at a reasonable hour, from a reasonable job…

Was that all he was working for? Would this all finally culminate into something worth living for, that maybe he would find a happy partner and house? He could get sleep at night, have a normal social life and maybe even kids-

_Wouldn’t they just be more work? Work, work, work, work, work. You should just drop out and live on the streets, don’t even put effort into anything. Not even eating or sleeping or drinking. Does a person die first from thirst or hunger…?_

Hideki slammed a palm onto his ear, the nagging thought stopping for only a moment until it resumed, and Hideki hit his other ear, hearing it only grow louder and more demanding, the taunts personal and threatening. 

_You’ll only kill yourself at the end - isn’t that what you do - your self-destructive behavior won’t do you any good - just start scratching - just start - just -_

The fingers clawed viciously, and Hideki let out a cry and fell to the ground, feeling the scrape of his nails and hoping it would bleed soon enough and he could get on with crawling home so that he could clean them all off and hope they healed over the weekend, sans scars, and that the class wouldn’t say a word-

 _Class._ His nails dug and pierced flesh, not hesitating once. He didn’t want to go back,  _don’t make me go back…_

Suddenly, he felt himself hoisted up by his arms, being dragged a little ways down the sidewalk and pulled into an alley. He let out another scream and moved to kick, but the person sidestepped, a hand leaving his arms to cover his mouth, the palm also pressing against the exposed wound and burning. Hideki moved to bite and elbow the person, but they resisted and wrestled him against the wall, having an advantage of height and build over him. Hideki felt his head make contact with the wall in a painful  _thud_. His vision swirled and blended together, and all he could make out was the man’s face and his striking red tie. 

The grip tightened around his wrist as he moved to try and speak, squirming to get out of the hold.

“Talk to me.” 

Hideki paused, staring at the man with a face that he hoped conveyed some form of disgust.  _“What?”_

“Talk to me. You’re having troubles, right kid?” 

“Nothing you should care about,” he snarled, moving to wrench his hand out of the man’s grasp, but he held fast, and Hideki stopped short.

“Tell me about it. Just, anything you like.”

“No.” 

“Just tell me. Let it all out, kid, then I’ll leave your life. You need it. You need this vent something bad.”

“I don’t want to say a thing to you.” 

“Then that’s fine, we can stay like this all night until you say something.” He trailed out his last phrase, looking at the boy with a patient glance, as if he was simply waiting for the train.

Hideki, in return, stared him down, trying to find a trace of falsehood on his lips, in his eyes, as if they would be cracks on a mask that could reveal his true nature. And found not a single thing. His face was like porcelain - quiet and somber.

And Hideki’s composure broke.

“There’s too  _much_. There’s so much to keep track of and manage, with work, then classes, then schoolwork and homework, and the commutes, and you still have to somehow sleep in all of that. I haven’t gotten to have more than four hours of rest, I can’t relax, my fingers and wrists are cramping… There’s too much… and…” Hideki locked eyes with the man, who was looking down upon him with pity. 

“It’s all bullshit.” He wrung his hands, fully crying, and it rapidly dissolved into a screaming sob, echoing off the brick walls of the alley round them.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, shhh… you hear me?  _Hey_ , stop crying. Let’s kill two birds with one stone, okay?”

Hideki opened his mouth to ask what he could do, but instead felt a stinging pain in his arm, causing him to cry out in pain and grab at it - finding blood had already begun to trickle out. He looked back to the man, his once-quiet eyes now filled with something indiscernible.

And that was all he saw before he blacked out.

* * *

Hideki blinked himself awake, before letting out a cry and going to grip his forearm. It  _burned_ , it stung unlike anything he had ever felt before. His fingers pressed against the searing pain, feeling it beginning to subside as he took gasping, deep breaths. 

He heard the humming first. It began ever-so-quietly - if Hideki had not cried aloud to have it followed by silence, he might not have even heard it. It filled the room, echoing off the plain walls and drab metal beds, creating a sense of unnerving comfort. 

“Who…” A single word came out through the bouncing notes, causing Hideki to then sit up and try to locate the source. 

He found it instantly. On the bed next to him was a boy, smile on his face and swaying very gently from side to side, blue eyes vacant, blonde hair a clouded mess about his head. Hideki wasn’t even sure if they knew he was there. A glance around the room told him there was nobody else, not a single soul in this strange place that he had no name for.

 _Where am I? How did I get here?_ Hideki tried to remember, just tried to think back, to who he was -  _the memory was too blurry_ \- to why he was even here -  _he saw a smile, he felt the pain again_ \- and just closed his eyes to the sounds of the steady humming, the sound like a beating drum. 

Then he screamed. Everything came back at once, and the pain in his arm returned, flaring up and ripping at his flesh. He kept yelling until he felt his lungs running out of air, and his voice going hoarse - _hoarse as it got trying to discipline those students, dry as it got when you kept rambling about materials, never taking a breath to let yourself pause._  Hideki could hear the humming still -  _the laughter, the mocks of his professors as he stood at the front of the classroom, again, day after day, apologizing for missing class time because… because of someone, who, who was it, was it worth it._  In an attempt to stifle and stop himself, Hideki shoved his fingers into his mouth, closing his lips about them -  _isn’t this how you always calmed down, your cope, pick at nails, bite at fingers, nip at knuckles, fiddle with pens, scratch at your palms._

“Who are you?” 

He had hardly noticed the singing stopped, not until his own constant pitch had stopped rebounding off the walls. A faint ringing filled the air, and he turned to the boy, watching him.

“I’m… I’m exhausted.”

The boy nodded once. “I’m happy.”

“Congrats to you.” Hideki’s voice came out muddled through the taste of his own fingers. He didn’t like how the boy’s voice sounded; it seemed to come from too many directions, as if the vocals came from another plane of existence, resounding throughout the room as it spoke. But his lips moved in perfect sync, in a meter so accurate that Hideki knew it had to come from him. 

“Mm. Very happy.” 

“Do you not care?” 

“About what?” Hideki moved to answer, but the boy continued, the tenor tones of his voice stopping Hideki cold. “I never did really care, not now, not ever, not about a thing.”

Hideki gnawed further at the one finger still remaining in his mouth, the comforting sensation of teeth skimming - breaking? - skin easing his heightened emotional state. “Must be nice.”

They smiled, the look on their face becoming completely blissful. “Must be nice.”

Their conversation died and the sound of a door opening replaced it. Hideki looked at saw the familiar red tie, and grin - _it’s him it’s him, he’s the one, he’s the one who promised and are things better did you hear your screams -_

“How are you, friend?” They came over next to him, one hand settled in their pocket. 

“Exhausted,” he repeated, the look from the older man doing nothing to reduce the feeling of dread that filled him whenever he looked at the man. 

“Good word for it,” he replied. “I’ve never heard quite so many screams come from one person before.”  _Was blood always so metallic-tasting?_  “Perhaps we can try something else. How’s your arm?”

“It’s…” Hideki was about to reply that it felt like his entire arm was in complete pain, but instead of feeling that sensation from earlier… it was simply numb. There was almost no feeling. He looked down at his fingers, which he flexed and rolled, hardly registering their motion despite seeing them with his own eyes. “It’s gone totally dead.” 

The man in the red tie cokced his head to one side. “Interesting observation. I’ll need to write that down.” He moved over again and pulled the hand from his pocket, something grasped in it. Hideki moved away from the metallic shimmer, retreating to a corner of the bed. “No!”

He felt the pain in his upper arm again, sharper than before, sliding in as easily as if the holes were already present - as if he was simply inserting a key into a lock. He wanted to cry out in pain, in agony, but his voice was hoarse and raw, so he simply locked his jaw firm in place instead, biting down with sheer force.

Something was  _inside_  his mouth. He heard the swearing of the man nearby, cursing rapidly as his hand was yanked out, and Hideki tasted flesh and blood, the object almost sliding back down his throat until his lips were pried apart, the man digging into his mouth to pull out -

A finger. Hideki stared at the object for a moment, ignoring the object in his arm, the loss of his digit as the hand bled on the sheets, as all else around him began to slide out of perspective. 

“Shit…” The person stared at him, eyes solemn. “G-Get over here, oh my God.” The finger was dropped onto the bed as he moved to pull the source of suffering out of his shoulder, hurting for just a moment. Then everything felt numb again; he had lost any sense of where he was in relation to all else, he couldn’t feel his legs move or his hands clench, not even the sensation of the towel as it dabbed at the space between his middle and pinky fingers.

And for a few minutes, there was simply… nothing.

* * *

Hideki was crying. He couldn’t remember  _why_  - not this time. He had been forgetting that lately. Through the gap of his missing finger, he could see the man bending over a desk, screaming at the contents of a thick binder. 

“What the hell!” He slammed it shut and shoved it off the desk, a flurry of loose papers flying into the air. Hideki could only watch as they began to pace about the room, muttering a swear or phrase that Hideki couldn’t understand. 

“What is the matter, what’s happened to him…” He continued to glance at Hideki, still sobbing but somehow able to focus and register the conversation - as if his body was committing to the two separate functions and his state of emotional breakdown was the new norm it lived by. 

“We needed him still, why did he get rid of the chemist!” The man lashed out at the empty air, before growling and moving to leave the room, slamming the door behind him. Hideki could only watch as he did so, yanking his hands away from his face. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head, glasses askew and hair feeling slick as it stuck to his forehead. There was a sense of dread slowly filling his body, a slow drip as it began to pile higher than he expected to handle. With a cry, he flung himself back onto the bed. 

“Don’t do that…” The singsong voice was back, coming from the boy next to him, even if it echoed about his being and rang in his ears. 

Hideki screamed in response to make it  _go away, go away go away go away go away_  - he thrashed about on the bed, arm hitting the desk nearby with a dull  _bang_. The sound was thick and metallic. Hideki stopped shaking and stared across at the object, his breaths deep and straggled. Suddenly, he sat up, the bed creaking beneath his weight. 

 _They’re angry. They’re angry at me._  Hideki knew the man wasn’t mad when he first arrived, that he was kinder and more concerned for him. They told him things, they spoke in a formal, emotionless accent and gave nothing but reassurances, usually accompanied by the pain in his arm. He hated that feeling. He hated that man and he hated the very idea that he stood for. 

_I want Viktor back._

_Who’s Viktor_ , his mind responded, a mimicking call.  _Who’s that person? You don’t know a Viktor. You know you, and you know you’re about to die. That man doesn’t love you. He hates you, loathes you, thinks you the scum of the earth and even beneath that. You are the cause of his misery and his error and you are going to suffer for it._

Hideki didn’t want to have that man come back. He didn’t want to hear that voice or feeling that agony. Any pain would feel lighter than the lead weight of his arm. Swinging out of the bed, he looked around at the room. The wall close to him was dark grey, like every other one around. The desk was the same, just with a shine from its material. He moved his fingers across the cool exterior as he sat down at the chair, studying it with a careful eye.

 _Bang! Bang!_  Hideki swung his head onto the desk, slamming it onto the surface. He felt his glasses break against his face, the cuts doing nothing to sate his need for pain. He wanted to cry out more but couldn’t summon the words or tears, just thrashing his head about again and again, feeling his skull throb. There was something pleasurable about that as his visions began to darken, standing from the chair and stabilizing himself against the desk so that he could continue the process. He didn’t spare a single moment, nor pause for a second to let the pain begin the healing process. Nothing could end it - until he felt himself beginning to black out. The dazed sensation took over next, threatening to overtake him as he fell to his knees, panting heavily as he sliced his cheeks again on the glass shards from pressing his head against the desk. He could hardly see his surroundings now - the lack of light, the throbbing feeling, and the  _blood_. He swore that the red was seeping into his eyes, invading all his pores and digging into his flesh. A hand dragged down his face and there was no other way to describe it - the sticky feeling was everywhere. And he hated it. He couldn’t even  _smash his head to pieces_  right; he had to go and fuck it up by being unable to see. 

Fingers dug at his face as he hunched over on the floor, slowly pressing into his bare sockets. He forced his eyelids to stay open, shoving his fingers in and scraping across the thin surface, instantly getting that agonizing, horrible feeling he had been searching for. And it was enough. It made him forget the headaches and stress, it made him forget the past and removed the looming threat of the future.

 _It was enough._  His only regret was biting away one of his fingers - then he could have had more to gouge his useless, useless eyes out with. They were doing a job enough, sliding them about and pulling, yanking and shredding them apart. 

 _Why is there more blood?_  Hideki moved to keep at them, feeling his vision finally fade.  _There. There. There. It’s going. It’s going. It’s going._

He couldn’t remember when he finally destroyed them past the point of any repair. He just knew that he couldn’t see anymore. That there was nothing for them to even find. He could only hear, only smell and feel. And he used all of those in the coming moments.

He heard the humming first - just as ethereal as before, the pitch rising and falling in a haunting melody. Hideki flexed his fingers and resisted the urge to tear at something else, simply listening to the music as he felt blood trickling down his temples.

Next was the footsteps… he didn’t hear those until they got close, hurriedly stepping over. Hands gripped at his cheeks, nails digging in as swears were said under loose breaths. 

“What the hell, what the hell…!” The man’s voice revealed him to be the same with the tie, releasing his hold on Hideki and letting his head fall back on the floor, feeling it slightly ache. How much damage had he done?

“I can’t… I can’t let him get…” With a heavy groan, the man clattered at the desk, digging for what he needed. Hideki then realized what he was most likely, looking for, and moved to get away - but too slowly. His erratic motions caused him to hit the bed and pause. Before he knew it, the pain in his arm returned, plunging deep into his flesh. With a cry, he fell forwards onto the floor, the only sound in the room as he blacked out being the gentle hums, echoing off the walls.

* * *

“Died of an infection, due to untreated self-inflicted wounds to his eyes? Really now.” The doctor tossed the photographs and files back across the desk. “Could’ve ended better, honestly.”

“Not my fault,” the man growled, yanking at his tie. “And we need you for more than just that.” He paused, glancing to the other man, watching the doctor’s lips pull back into a smile.

“Do tell me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song From The Album This Chapter Belongs To:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8mU-_yhSYo&index=6&list=PLPkRdqN6NiQ1-KnDO3KGJHjwZ5ugoUVmR


	6. Kaobon Tandeki Boy - Jéan (Entry #8)

_“Chase your dreams,_ mon prince. _I’ll support you every step of the way.”_

Those words were commonplace in the household of his childhood. Jéan took the phrase to heart each time he displayed to his father some new steps he had learned, or the outfit he had put together himself that morning. Each smile gave him that support, and it settled his heart… for a time.

He quickly learned that people would give you attention and compliments if you sought out to obtain them. Other students in grade school said things that his ears longed to hear, and due to his skills, Jéan managed to get into the after school dance classes, learning the barebones of ballet. He would later learn this wasn’t true ballet, and that loving clothes and dancing got you in deep water with the other kids.

But, each time something happened, his father would call him that name – _mon prince_ – and say that he still cared for Jéan, and that he still loved him.

However, like every prince’s fairy tale, they have to face their beasts and pass their tribulation to move on in life.

He dealt with the bullies and the lack of friends each year, justifying it by saying that it gave him time to focus on more important things. Jéan swore that he would make his father proud by excelling at those classes and achieving his dream, which took form slowly – but came to him in the end.

It wasn’t jaw-dropping or life-changing. Jéan never saw the potential in himself for anything but the job he wanted, due to his ability to eek out straight C’s in every single class. There was the occasional D in some classes, but he paid them no mind. He was heading to high school and still forging down the path of joining a more intensive dance club and modeling for outside groups and amateur seamstresses. He was captain by his second year and was able to soon make deals for himself in the local community.

But that wasn’t enough. Not for his goal of being a famous model, one seen on billboards across city buildings. Not if he wanted to be known throughout the world and featured on commercials for his appeal and heartthrob. It just simply wasn’t enough.

High school couldn’t work for him the way he wanted it to. So he looked to other sources in an attempt to figure out where to begin, branch out his desires and his need for attention. People who could sate that constant need that he wore on his sleeve, and allow him to indulge in their comments and love.

 _But where do I begin?_ He found that he didn’t have an immediate answer to that question, and mused on it for a few days, ignoring homework in favor of flipping through magazines, putting together outfits for the week, or scrolling endlessly through Facebook. He would look at the role models that he surrounded himself with, dreaming of the day that he could be like them.

Jéan did not realize how close the beginnings of those times were.

The idea finally came to him as he hit the “like” button for the uptenth time that day – _his thumb found it automatically, how many times had it struck that location of the screen?_ – the idea that he needed to begin somewhere, and… start from scratch. Square one. The beginning.

He deleted everything old and useless from his Facebook, sent out new requests to people he admired, and took notes on the social media pages of those he aspired to be. Each one had their page down to a science, and Jéan was determined to learn it and use it for his own.

The first notification that went off was like a bell, loud and clear.

* * *

Fame never comes overnight, save for those spotted by agents or given all they wanted from birth. Jéan knew this well, and yet, the mindset he made for himself only bred a desire for progress. He accepted nothing less than the constant stream of likes, then comments, and even reposts that occurred of his daily outfits or life quotes. He adored each new one and did his best to respond, starting to ignore his teachers when they told him to put his phone away during class. He had no reason to listen to them – not when there were more important things on the line. Loyal followers were eager for those replies, feeding to the count of his likes as they began to hit triple digits.

Progress was good. _Progress was all that mattered._

_If there isn’t an increase, then something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong._

One single picture broke the standards that he superimposed upon himself. He posted it while sitting in a McDonald’s, posing with his meal in what he thought was one of his best outfit combinations.

  1. _436\. 437. 438. 439. 439. 439. 439. 439._



The number did not increase, remaining stagnant at those same three digits.

  1. _439\. 439. 439. 439. 439. 439. 439. 439. 439. 439. 439._



His last one had been 452. And that difference – so statistically small but vastly important – sent him into hysterics. His fingers shook and he almost spilled his drink, unable to handle something that he had refused to accept as possible. His entire life almost shattered into pieces.

Yet something clicked back into place, just in time – _just in time for what?_ The clock reset and held itself back, allowing him a moment to breathe. He would just have to improve with time–

“Excuse me?”

The voice brought him out of his trance, making him look up from his phone and find himself gazing at a petite young girl. She had red, curling hair and a rose-colored smile, beaming at him.

“You’re Jéan! Oh my goodness, I thought it had to be you!”

He found that he couldn’t muster any sort of reply to her comments – every word died on his tongue and did not bring forth more with it. All he could do was flash a smile, and say something absently that confirmed her suspicions.

“Do you mind if I take a selfie with you? And oh, get your autograph! I have those exclusive photographs you sent out and I carry them around… I hope that’s not too weird! I just never took them out after collecting them from the post office, you know…”

“It’s perfectly alright, _mon chéri._ I don’t mind it one bit.” Jéan finally composed himself and gave the refined smile he had practiced for hours on end before the mirror, watching her melt at the sight. With a slight dip, he raised his phone, intending to post it right to Facebook.

_Click!_

…

_530 likes._

* * *

Jéan tapped absently against his mouse, staring at his Facebook page. His cursor idly hovered over the refresh button, clicking every ten seconds to watch all the counts on his page rise by a factor of ten each time. His phone was constantly going off as well, keeping the steady count that allowed him to pass the seconds by. He no longer watched a clock tick or listened for the sound of a bell to signal the end of another dull lesson. In fact, he was considering dropping the whole “school” affair altogether, preferring to go full-time into the world of modeling.

Fame had led to triple digits, which led to quadruple. He got his first offer to model a new line of fall clothing alongside other up-and-coming models for in-store advertisements. He took a selfie next to those when they went up in stores, grinning at the camera.

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

_5134 likes._

His father was not as supportive as he had been in his youth. He was offended that Jéan still went to school for dance club, but received a phone call that Jéan wouldn’t be able to participate if he wasn’t attending school – something that had come as a shock to him when he heard the news. He ended up confronting Jéan about it that night, spitting insults and trying to take back all he had said in his son’s youth.

The next morning, Jéan wore an all black ensemble and deadly eyeliner.

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

_12456 likes._

The requests for modeling just kept on coming, despite his father intentionally trying to stop some of the letters or disrupt the phone calls, before shifting to sitting at the computer and sabotaging his e-mails. Jéan began to keep his cell phone on him at all times, often calming down to the soothing drone of the notification sound, letting it fill his ears as he went to sleep.

Each job led to another, and eventually, he achieved outward fame. People would flock and he would hear all their compliments, listen to each of their stories and take photos with every single fan who desired a picture.

He mistook a rather important figure for one of those fans. They stopped him on the way out the door from a photoshoot, and he offered a signature selfie, but they merely shook their head.

“There’s someone we would like you to meet. Or rather, he would like to meet you – and his name should speak volumes to the importance of this. Jae? He wants to discuss a possible deal with you.”

Jéan watched the photos from that day’s shoot go up a couple days later, and he shared them on his page.

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

_26791 likes._

Jéan admired himself before the mirror, smile growing wider on his face. He looked perfect; like the ideal model for an afternoon lunch with one of the most famous K-Pop idols. Jae’s dancing skills were some of the most admired in the industry, and his voice melted hearts of young males and females alike. That was just who JaeJae was – and Jéan was about to have the honor of meeting him.

He had been looking forward to the occasion ever since he was contacted by the idol’s agent, asking to be featured as a guest model in the next music video series alongside his group.

 _I can’t waste this opportunity._ He swore to himself that he was walking out of the meeting with a deal, to cement himself as a model in the professional world and establish a true identity for himself. Jéan had been aware that current shell of influence was too small for a good time now. It was cramping against his shoulders with an invisible pressure, threatening to crush him… so he needed to escape it.

Those first steps towards a new chapter were down the stairs of his apartment, yelling his good-byes as he walked down. He admired himself briefly in the hall mirror, tossing his hair lightly to the side and adjusting his white jacket.

Every part of him felt immaculate, but that didn’t stop Jéan from checking every subsequent window and reflection on the way to to his meeting _. A bad first impression,_ he told himself, _could ruin everything._

Yet despite his confidence, his steady pace, and drive to commit–

He found himself only briefly stopped by the guards outside the restaurant, instructing him to provide evidence of his identity. When the proper messages were exchanged, they moved to open the door. Jéan found himself unable to step forward in that moment, feet glued to the spot. Yet, his heart urged him forward, and he stepped into the building. He marched to the tempo of his phone, ringing with every new notification.

_Here we go._

* * *

The doctor sat across the man with the red tie, watching closely for his reaction. The doctor’s empty, insomniac nights had led to pouring over the notes left behind with eager vigor, compiling all available information into an easy-to-read manner for them to use. Bouncing his foot as he crossed his legs, he waited for any flicker of emotion, hoping to catch the other man by surprise with what he had written. But as the seconds ticked by, he could hold his excitement no longer.

“Well?” He leaned forward the slightest bit, his grin growing. “What do you think?”

The man with the red tie gave a heavy sigh, and he looked up to the doctor in disbelief. “You want to make a _zoo_?”

“And why, pray tell, is it not a good idea?”

“I’m not saying it’s a _bad_ idea, necessarily, but… we would have to fund the project, somehow. And I don’t think this would be covered as an ‘average’ experiment… the chemist who started all this barely scraped by passes to get anything at all.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that so much. Focus on other things for now.”

“And why shouldn’t we?”

The two men glanced over to the doorway, where a third man had just walked in from the next room over. He clicked the door shut, giving a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. Falling back against the door, he looked to the man in the tie and the doctor in turn, somber eyes flicking lazily. “It’s hard enough to justify funding this project to the rich, private sectors, let alone anything corporate.”

“That can still be arranged,” the doctor replied, the smile still not vanishing from his face.

“Then I’d prefer you tell us, first,” the man with the red tie said, slamming the binder shut. “I don’t want shitty scams and throwing us under the bus if it goes south.”

The doctor stared at the man across over his glasses, seemingly amused. “If you insist. You both know I went to medical school, became a private practitioner, and have cared for a vast number of special cases, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I made a few friends while I was there. And one of them ended up becoming a surgeon… before marrying quite rich.”

“Oh really? And who did they end up marrying?” The man with the red tie leaned further in now, waiting for the answer with bated breath.

“I don’t know if you would know the name…”

“Try us.” The man with the somber eyes was looking towards the duo now, curious for the answer. “I’ve looked at enough company names these past few months to know them all.”

“Oh, really? Then… does this name sound familiar to you?”

The doctor dropped the word from his lips, and both men visibly jerked, reacting to the infamous name with shock. Of course they recognized it – it was practically a household name – known for funding multiple scholarship programs, private institutions, and development projects, and the current head of the family also had a taste for the arts and theatre, sinking money into those as well.

“There’s no way you will get him to fund anything of that sort,” the man with the red tie sneered, throwing the binder back at the doctor. “Do it alone. If you actually manage it, get back to me. Because there’s no way in hell it’ll work.” With that, he stood from his chair and stalked out of the room, grumbling the entire way out.

“Well, then, if it’s just an attempt, a phone call shouldn’t hurt.” The doctor stood from the chair, turning to the last remaining member in the room. “Would you stay here and monitor them for a little bit longer? Summon me if anything crucial happens.”

“...Of course.”

“Thank you.” With that, the doctor left the room as well, footsteps receding down the hallway at a brisk pace. Now alone, the man with the somber eyes looked back once again at the room, eyes trailing across the people within before they landed on the one he was looking for.

The boy was alone, and sometimes, his posture and speech would change in the blink of an eye. It was like two people lived inside of him, constantly fighting for the control of his faculties. His heart went out to him each time as he was with him, discussing topics of such complexity that it would make the average person’s head spin.

Shaking the train of thought from his mind, the man with the somber eyes grabbed the door handle, pulling it open to let himself back inside.

* * *

The restaurant was tidy, and a few patrons were allowed inside to eat at the tables – most likely to give the illusion of a “causal” environment if any photos went up online – but nobody was as focused on their meal as they were on the person seated in the center of the room.

Jéan knew him instantly, finding Jae just as attractive up close as he was on stage and in all his photos. As he approached, the idol looked up, flashing a brilliant smile that Jéan suspected he had practiced as often as his own.

“So you’re Jéan!” Jae held out a hand to shake, rising slightly from his seat before gesturing for Jéan to sit down. He leaned across the table, the grin only slightly lessening on his face.

“I was told you have a lot of talent and showmanship, Jéan. Your posts are getting noticed and so are your photoshoots. There’s a store for your prints and something in a joint deal… if you want to accept it. I’m sure my agents have been telling you the details.”

Jéan eyed Jae carefully, gauging the sincerity of his statements. Despite his search, he found no cracks in the idol’s façade, and decided to press forth with the discussion.

“It would be an absolute honor to work with someone like you. I am humbled to even be in your presence.”

“What’s that trademark pose you do – ‘selfie time’ or something like that?” Jae glanced at a nearby table, where two people were seated, dressed down in completely black outfits. They raised their heads as Jae glanced their way, and he beckoned them over.

“We’ll need a couple publicity photos, if you don’t mind, just for the show. Should get them over with now. Would you like to pose with me?”

“Is it all right if I take an actual selfie when we do it?” Jéan moved to stand next to Jae, holding up the phone. They duo made their trademark expressions, Jéan giving a brilliant smile and peace sign, while Jae gave a smirk and finger guns at the camera. He heard the clicks from all around; from the phone camera he held into the air to the two on either side of them, snapping shots. He felt the glory for only a moment, but it ended too quickly, Jae pulling away and settling back into his seat as Jéan posted the photo up on Facebook with only a few clicks and tags.

“That was rather fast.”

“My whole career started on Facebook, it’s no surprise that I’m adept with it. Don’t you make your own posts from time to time?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Jae leaned on his elbows and laced his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “It’s all handled by advertisement. I don’t actually do any of the work… and neither does anybody else.”

At that statement, he extended a hand, getting too close to Jéan’s phone. He recoiled instantly, clutching it to his chest. Jae frowned at that reaction,confused as to why he had done that.

“What’s the matter, Jéan? You won’t really _need_ that anymore. You’ll have too rigorous of a rehearsal schedule for it, and the agents do all the work for you. They’re good ghost writers, I promise–”

“I don’t _need_ that in my life. If that’s part of the standards, I don’t want a part in it.”

“You’re denying yourself an opportunity over your _Facebook_ career?” Jae laughed, leaning away as he couldn’t believe his ears. “That’s ridiculous. You’ll throw it all away for that?”

“...I don’t need you.” Jéan felt the vibrations in his hand, urging him to hold his phone close and not let go. He gripped it tighter, not worried if he was going to crack the screen. Anything was better than handing it over. _Anything._

“If that’s your choice… But I’ll give you one last chance.” Jae extended his hand again. “Hand it over.”

As Jéan sat there, in a state of shock, he found himself unable to come to a choice. He refused to release his phone, despite the fact everything was on the line. He could make a new career, achieve what he had been working for.

And now, he was going to throw it all away.

_I can do it on my own._

“No.”

The word dropped like a stone, and Jae shrugged, looking towards the two crew members again. “We don’t need those photos anymore.”

Jéan bit his lip, wanting to defy that command… but what could he do? _There’s nothing I can say. I made my stance clear._ He stayed completely still, not turning away from Jae once.

But had he done so, he might have noticed the pair of eyes boring into his head, coming from a couple tables away.

The person seated there was on a date, thinking nothing of the meeting of a famous idol and some apparent up-and-coming kid… but now he was _interesting._ He stared at the Jéan’s face, relishing in the wide-eyed expression that was present upon it. He had not expected find someone today with that same horror in his eyes – a familiar sight in his line of work. His date across the table said something, nudging his arm and getting his attention back, asking if he wanted to leave. He flashed a quick smile in her direction, but found his eyes lingering on the blond, his eyes as wide as saucers. The boy across from him tilted his head, surprised that the other wasn’t even protesting.

“Aren’t you listening? I thought you didn’t recognize them!”

The man finally tore his eyes away from the pair in the center of the restaurant and turned back to his date, who was frowning at him.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hands. “Didn’t mean to ignore you. However,  I have a question… I’m curious to who those people are now.” He raised one hand and pointed at Jéan, a small smile growing on his face.

“Could you tell me who that is?”

* * *

What had started out as something innocent and in a dream had morphed into something gross and obsessive.

But Jéan refused to acknowledge it as such. He buried it under powders and airs, and hid his concerns behind the screen that divided him against everyone else.

He felt the neck pains from looking down at his phone all the time, having begun to distrust the family computer when his father moved from simple sabotage to banning websites. Jéan knew that school had gotten out for summer, but could not recall the last time he had attended. He would be dragged to school, of course, forced into the car, but each time, he would leave the premises, not checking in with anybody.

After the incident with Jae, Jéan had lost his voice. He couldn't speak to anybody face-to-face anymore. He didn’t want to talk with anybody without the safety of a screen, where he had all the time in the world to write his replies. He could not stand reality as he knew it to be. Even that was too much. He was obsessed with that one app, placing it in the center of his home screen. It was all he needed now – _it was his life now. And did he want the old one back?_

Jéan couldn’t bring himself to turn off the notification sound ever since he had posted that selfie. He needed to hear it going off every single time, to count them until he lost track of the numbers in his mind. And each time that happened, he would restart.

_One, two, three, four, five, six._

An email notification tone disrupted the stream, and it resumed less than a second later.

_Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven._

Jéan turned onto his side and faced his bedside table, where his phone was plugged into it’s charger. The screen was lit, never once darkening, banishing any hope of sleep tonight.

 _Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen_ –

Suddenly, he heard footsteps outside his door, pausing momentarily. Jéan swung an arm out and pulled the phone under the covers, muffling the constant ringing as he quickly lowered the volume. For a moment, all was silent – deadly, dark, and suffocating.

_It makes me uncomfortable. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it. It’s too quiet, too unnerving. Make it go away, make it go away..._

“Good night, Jéan,” he heard the voice call out, tentatively, before retreating into his room and shutting the door. With a sigh of relief, Jéan brought his phone out again, the screen displaying mass updates of notifications every second.

_Is it enough? Is it ever going to be enough to surpass what I had with Jae? I still see one, two, three, five, seven, eleven, twenty notifications going by that are still liking that single post from a month ago. Imagine how many I could have obtained if something had not happened. If something had not happened._

He resumed his counting, trying to force himself into the lull of sleep. It became harder and harder to rest these days, wanting to listen to the sounds of his fans ringing in his ears. It ate at his dreams, never ceasing once. With a tired sigh, he reached out and turned his light on again, lifting the phone skyward. With practiced motions, he opened the camera, switching the view for a selfie.

_Where is my face?_

The eyes that looked back at him were sunken into his skin, bags apparent without the makeup he usually put on in the morning. He had never seen the blemishes growing on his cheeks, popping up with the lack of concealer. The gaze had never offended him so much before - but it made sense. There was so much he was hiding beneath shallow lines and brushes, and behind invisible walls that he put up all around himself.

_Fake. Disgusting. Superficial. Ugly. Pig. Unnecessary. Invalid. Undesired. Liar. Liar. Liar._

_Liar liar liar liar liar liar_ –

Jéan flung himself out of bed, almost buckling upon contact with the floor. Sliding shoes on, he swung his door open and thundered down the stairs, ignoring the shocked cries behind him. The door unlocked, and he picked up his pace, free from the confines of of his walls and covers. He clutched the phone close to his chest as he ran, both hands wrapped around the thick, fashionable case. The streets were completely different in the late hour, a slight fog settling over the town. His breathing became unsteady. Each footstep got louder as his phone kept ringing, the notification coming on in a strict beat. He found himself falling victim to its tempo, his pace matching it perfectly.

As he approached the restaurant, Jéan stared through the empty windows, seeing the chairs on the tables and empty displays, waiting to be filled the following morning. Hands hit the smooth, chilled glass, dropping the phone to the sidewalk. They pressed into the window, attempting to push through and get inside. His face moved against it next, observing everything within. There was the calendar on the back of the wall, the clock ticking away the hours until opening. Dust in the corners. Nicks in the wood. He could even see the exact table they had sat at – practically untouched. The small ribbons on the chair indicated where the famous idol had been… and his had not a single defining feature.

 _This sound isn’t frequent enough,_ Jean thought, gritting his teeth as he heard the tone repeating again and again and again. _It should be a constant noise, never stopping, forever and ever…_

As he stared through the window, motionless, focusing on what was within. But for a moment – _just a moment, isn’t that all it takes?_ – he saw something else.

He saw his eyes, but found that he couldn’t even describe them as such. They were vacant, empty, fathomless mirrors which reflected nothing. They only gave back what he saw within himself – shallow skin, and a shallow persona.

_Please save me. Please save me. Is there any way out? Please… please… please…_

As he stared, focused on only himself, Jéan failed to notice the man. He leaned back on the bench a few feet away, smirking as he settled in to watch the idol at the window, eager for any sign of movement or change.

“It seems that I was right, after all.”

* * *

_“A zoo? Well, that sounds like a splendid idea. …Tell me more.”_

The man spun the phone cord lazily around his finger, smiling as he spoke. The reply on the other end was reassuring, detailed, and clearly well-thought out for every circumstance. The people they had begun to gather sounded fit for a place like this, and he knew that there would be something worth investing in it.

“I’m sure we can arrange something. The Jigokugata Project, correct? And Doctor... ah, yes, thank you.” He clicked a pen and scribbled the name down on a sheet of stationary, tearing it off and tucking it inside his jacket. “I’ll be in touch.”

He heard the phone line click before hanging up himself, moving around the desk again as he mused on the idea of the project and it’s people.

“It wouldn’t hurt to contribute,” he said aloud, looking about his office. “I’m sure I can find a few people, even… it shouldn’t be too hard.” He gave the air a gentle smile, and let out a soft sigh. “Something to fill the empty hours, anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song From The Album This Chapter Belongs To:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYVLWBH0dMc&index=7&list=PLPkRdqN6NiQ1-KnDO3KGJHjwZ5ugoUVmR


	7. Yokuatsu Sakuran Boy - Wakatoshi (Entry #9)

Any number of things can capture the imagination and create something from nothing. The stars in the sky are just far enough away to invoke a spark of adventure, a work of art can inspire generations when displayed for all to see, and a simple problem can spark the need for a solution.

What imaginations come from these things, however, is where the fine line lies.

In Wakatoshi’s home, the television was the only source of entertainment for a child, more often than not. He would spend much time in front of it, watching cartoonish animals leap across the screen or see - but not understand - what was going on in the world if his grandfather changed it to the news station. He quickly became fond of one set of shows in particular, to the point where he begged his parents to buy him a VHS of the performer. 

After receiving it as a birthday gift, he put it in when his grandfather was easing back in his chair for a nap. Minutes later, he too was reeled in by the illusions being presented on screen. Wakatoshi moved to settle between his legs, excitedly talking about the magician. They watched it together, seeing him move across the stage and perform an assorted manner of unique tricks and feats, showcasing his wide repertoire of talents. Wakatoshi saw him leap through fire, only collapse on the other side, alit, then being doused and standing up just fine. He saw him swallow swords, play with dangerous animals, and even defy death when he dropped into a container filled with water and forced to escape. 

But none of these compared to Wakatoshi’s soon-to-be favorite act: the saw and the box.

It was a simple trick when you first watched it. The lady was escorted into a container, and closed within. Then, the magician brought out a massive saw. He rigged it all up, beginning to hack at the wooden box. With ease, he was moving through the thin wood like butter. In seconds, he hit about where the body would be - and the lady  _ screamed _ . Despite her sudden protests, his work did not stop. Instead, it only looked more laborious, and she kept crying out for him to stop, begging for him to end it all. 

At the sight of blood leaking out of the box, Wakatoshi was suddenly far more fascinated. He kept his eyes trained on the screen while his grandfather muttered something about this magician being too graphic for kids. 

Finally, the saw fell through the bottom, and the magician ditched the bloody tool, tossing it aside. The lady had gone quiet long ago, her head bent back and mouth agape. The magician swung the two halves around so the feet and head faced the audience. Wakatoshi suddenly wondered if she was dead - since the camera briefly focused on her; her eyes were glazed over, and her mouth was slightly open from when it had stopped screaming. The audience gave horrified gasps and cries, but the magician shook his head and waggled his finger.

“Fear not, I shall bring her back from the dead! Behold!”

The stage went dark, and there was one last cry from the lady. The lights came on again only moments later -

And there she was. She stood in the place of the magician, cloak and saw in hand, while the two halves of the box were completely empty. She smiled and blew a kiss to the camera, before trotting off stage to let the magician back on centerstage, who made a quip for the end of his act.

_ “Remember, when tomorrow comes, it’ll all continue as normal, smiling and forgiving. Thank you for attending, and good night…” _

“Grandad,” Wakatoshi said, his voice distant as the VHS whirred, “what does he mean by that?”

“Hm? Well, he means that no matter what, tomorrow will always come and move on… and in this case, he’s referring to how she bounced back from death and that she’ll be fine tomorrow. That ‘time forges on,’ as your father might say.”

Wakatoshi couldn't help but be in awe from his grandfather’s sagely explanation, and nodded to show he understood it to the best of his ability. “Thank you, grandad.” He turned back to the television set, watching as it moved onto the next show, where he was doing card tricks with the audience in a smaller, more intimate setting. 

“Of course, kiddo.” He ruffled his hair, and Wakatoshi leaned back into the chair, smiling at the happy time with his grandfather. He hoped there would be many more times like this that he could spend with him… 

But that was not to be.

His grandfather died in his sleep a week later. The funeral was put together and Wakatoshi found himself in a stuffy suit and tie, not understanding why everyone was leaving and crying at the sight of his grandad laying there. Wakatoshi felt the answer stirring at the back of his mind - an uncomfortable term that told him  _ he’s never coming back _ \- but he refused to listen, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the casket. He raised his voice, declaring, “I don’t want him dead!”

People turned to stare as he broke the somber silence, and moments later, he felt his father scooping him up, hushing him. “You can’t be loud here, Waka. You have to be quiet.”

“But then how will grandad hear me?” His eyes were welling up with tears, and his father furrowed his brow at the response.

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t want him sleeping. He can come back, because… because…”

His father gleamed the meaning and gave a weary smile, cradling his son closer. “No, he’s not coming back, Waka, even if you want him to.”

“Yes he is! Yes he is!” He protested his father’s statement with vehemence, breaking down as he began to kick and scream. They moved him away from the casket, letting him throw a tantrum in the Sunday school room. His parents ignored the sounds of boxes falling and objects hitting the walls, making a promise to clean up before departing.

“Perhaps he shouldn’t attend the burial. It might be too much,” his father suggested, eyes trained on the floor. 

“Good idea.” His mother chewed at her lip, glancing towards the classroom. The sounds of destruction had ceased, but the yelling had not - they assumed he had thrown himself upon the floor. “God knows what he would do if he saw them burying Dad.”

“I think the shock is just a little much for him, is all. He’s too young. He needed to mature a bit.” 

“Mm.” Silence fell between them as they listened to his cries, dissipating into wet coughs… and then, nothing.

The door clicked open, and his parents turned to see Wakatoshi peering through the crack. His mother gave a warm smile, holding out her arms towards him.

“Come on, Wakatoshi. Let's get home.”

“Will Grandad be there when we get back?” he asked, coming out of the classroom and sheepishly shutting the door behind him, temporarily hiding the evidence of destruction.

Her gaze fell, briefly, but she put on a brave face and shrugged. “We’ll see! You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

“Okay! I’ll wait as long as I need to!”

“He would be happy to hear that, Waka.”

* * *

He grew up without seeing his grandfather again.

It was to be expected, he thought. When he was still young, his parents said something about his grandfather living elsewhere - and no, they could not visit him under any circumstances. It didn’t make sense, but he still wrote a letter every year, until his parents said he couldn’t do that anymore, too - along with a plethora of other things that they claimed were “just to protect him”... until they gave up.

Wakatoshi made his own way through life, working up to middle school with more injuries and bruises than he anticipated. He had made himself out to be a fighter and a delinquent - temper often getting the best of him over the smallest things and accepting all challenges that came his way. From students making an insulting comment to another punching him in the gut, to rowdy boys looking for a one-on-one, he stood his ground each time and fought back. It got him through the week and gave him a smile, knowing he held his own, but the pride cost him dearly. Teachers thought his attitude was unfit for school, and he found himself ridiculed by them outside and even inside the classroom. 

One day was particularly nasty. He got into two fights that morning and was kicked out of the classroom for unruly behavior when the kid taunted him for having more injuries than usual, and was subsequently told to exit the infirmary upon arrival. With a sour expression, he sat outside, enduring a couple kicks from a group that walked by. He handled it well enough until the nurse came out and saw the commotion, telling them all to get lost. As she spoke, a small boy slipped out behind her, with blond hair and large green eyes. His glasses seemed too big for his face, and he looked at Wakatoshi curiously, his eyes never wavering until the door to the infirmary shut behind him.

“Hello!” he chirruped, and Wakatoshi scoffed. 

“The hell do you want?” 

The boy pouted, looking at Wakatoshi’s injuries. “What are all those?”

“They’re cuts and bruises. What do you think they are? Make-up?”

“Did the nurse not let you in? She’s supposed to help.

Wakatoshi barked out a laugh. “Like hell she would. She hates me.”

“I go there for my asthma medicine, but I have a first aid kit in my backpack! Let’s go get it!” The boy reached out and took Wakatoshi’s hand before he could protest, dragging him along with a firm grip. He sputters and stumbles, but finds his response dying on his tongue. Before long, he found himself outside, settled on a school bench while the boy is opened his kit, digging through for creams and bandaids. 

“My name’s Izumi, by the way. I don’t know if I properly introduced myself. What’s yours?”

“Wakatoshi,” he muttered, crying out as the alcohol pad touched an exposed wound. “Ouch! Watch what you’re fucking doing!” 

“Sorry! But I need to clean it, I don’t know if you’ve washed it out…” With that done, he moved to get a gauze pad and wrap a band-aid around it, securing the entire thing in place before repeating with the next spots. Wakatoshi grumbled the entire time, but was grateful for the help and attention that he was receiving - giving Izumi a rare smile as he admired the handiwork.

“Thank you,” he said, and Izumi nodded. 

“Happy to help! Come to me whenever you get injured… I’ll try to talk to the nurse, but if she doesn’t listen, I’ll… I-I’ll do it for you!”

Wakatoshi nodded. In that moment, he swore a promise only to himself: that he would try to protect Izumi. He didn’t limit his gang activities because of his new-found ally, but found the shelter in going to him when the fights got rough. Izumi never chastised him for his gang activities like his parents, or refused to acknowledge him like his teachers. In return, Wakatoshi never yelled at him for being late or too stuck in his books. They remained by each other’s side through high school, being steadfast friends - a bond that was soon tested as Wakatoshi tried to integrate into the upper gangs.

He was drifting in and out of groups, mostly due to having no filter when it came to talking to higher ups. Wakatoshi gained many new scars until a gang took him in and sent him on a mission - just to threaten another local and tell him to get off turf. Everything went smoothly, with Wakatoshi brandishing his bat and the other boy using his fists to force him out… but afterwards, as they moved to clean themselves up, the other boy told Wakatoshi to get lost.

“They don’t actually want you, you know,” he said, giving a snarky grin. “They took you in because nobody else would. That’s really sad, isn’t it… being taken in because nobody else wants to deal with your shit. This was the  _ first _ one I asked to join, and they took me in right away.”

“That’s a fucking lie, and you know it.” Wakatoshi curled his lip at the accusation, but the boy shrugged, his smile not once wavering.

“No, I was told to tell  _ you _ to get lost. Orders from the higher-ups. Clearly, they like me more than you. Quit while you think you’re still ahead.”

Wakatoshi felt his anger rising. He heard it throbbing in his skull, felt it spreading to his fingertips and loosening his knees. His eyes were trained on the boy before him, narrowed and focused.

He swung. 

It made a sickening sound as the metal made contact with his skull, casting him aside. He screamed in retaliation, but Wakatoshi did it again, this time making contact with his jaw. The bat came right back as he swung it downward, hitting the top of his target’s head. He groaned then, collapsing to a heap on the ground. But Wakatoshi did not relent. He kept beating the bat into his head with a steady rhythm, wanting him to  _ stay down, stay down, don’t die, just stay down. You’ll be back up soon. _

With a sudden click, everything moved back into focus. The red in his vision vanished and he saw the blood, oozing out of the boy’s mouth and nose. Wakatoshi stared in horror, falling two steps back, unable to process the scene before him. In an attempt to escape it, he turned and ran away, holding tight to the bat. He felt  _ afraid _ , somehow, of a consequence that would come about due to this action.

_ Why do I feel guilty? He’s going to come back. He’s got to come back. I don’t want him dead, so I’ll see him again later.  _ Wakatoshi began to suck in heavy breaths, still running further and further from the scene, telling himself the same mantra over and over again, not wanting to accept the nagging tone at the back of his mind that kept insisting otherwise.

_ He’s alive because I want him to be alive. He’s alive because I want him to be alive. He’s alive because I want him to be alive... _

* * *

The room was dimly lit - one of the many things wrong with the old location. It was never supposed to be in use for the length of time that they remained within its walls, but the past two years proved it to be not only cramped, but poorly maintained and horrendous when the harsher seasons came around… such as now, when winter was at it's worst. Drafts ran under every door and the windows banged as the wind blew, the cold air hanging low in every room.

But despite the temperature, the man seated alone on one side of the table showed no signs of distress or chill. He remained poised, one leg over the other as he leaned back in his chair. A smile was tugging at his lips as he read over the papers in his hands, not once uttering any sort of comment. The other two men across from him seemed distressed at his lack of conversation, one moving to loosen their tie while the other merely stared, waiting and watching. The air was tense, thick with anticipation until the benefactor finally opened his mouth.

“Is the third one going to show up?” His voice was matter-of-fact, eyes glancing up briefly at the two other men. “What was his name…” 

The sudden voice in the silence startles the two staff members, one of whom jumps to answer.

“He’s with the boys in another section. He’s watching them until I can go on my shift.” The doctor smiles slightly, as if asking for forgiveness on the caretaker’s part. “I’m almost wondering if he’s grown attached to the subjects.”

“There’s no way someone can,” the man in the red tie replies, frowning at the doctor. “Those kids are just experiments. He needs to relax; go home to his girlfriend once and a while.”

“Fiancée,” the doctor corrects. “But you’re right, he can’t afford to get attached-”

“If you two are done.” The soft sound of papers hitting the table and the creak of a chair as the benefactor leaned forward quiet the two men down, causing them to turn and give their full attention. “I noticed something curious on this report.” The benefactor reaches out and taps it with a languid finger, eyes trained across the table. “Your numbers are down by one subject. Can you explain this?” 

The man with the red tie tenses up, and the doctor looks to him, hesitating on his answer. With a shaky breath, he responds, voice small and devoid of it’s usual presence.

“The subject wasn’t capable of staying. He was showing a sort of improvement with the drug, somehow. It defied all our standards… and it was giving the others a sort of hope. We couldn’t have that… but, sending him to do other tasks and monitor his progress as an outlier also proved to have no success. He has left us and will most likely not be coming back.”

The benefactor seems amused at the explanation, inching closer. “Is he the child that came up in the news? That he was found, and returned to his family?”

Their silence speaks the truth, and the benefactor gives a satisfied sigh. “Well, there’s nothing to be done, then. I can find a replacement, if you would like me to.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.” The doctor’s eyes lift, narrowing slightly as they meet the benefactor’s. “You have done too much already. You have already begun building the zoo and replacement facility. But if this is about the delay, with that-”

The benefactor raises a hand, silencing him instantly. The room pauses, and he keeps his gaze trained on the doctor, never blinking or wavering.

“...Don’t dwell on it,” he finally says. “Consider it to be just another contribution to the project.”

* * *

The bat scraped across cement, the blood on it already dried. It was a grating sound as he approached his house, shoving the back gate open and moving towards the hose in the garden.

_ You kicked him against the wall. You held him there and couldn’t help swinging continuously, the wall helping you prove your dominance as you bashed it into him over and over again. What did it all even prove? When he was so firmly against the bricks that when you went to pull him away, he only collapsed to the ground in shock?  _

_ But he’ll come back like the rest. You’ll see him soon. _

Wakatoshi glanced down, looking at his skin and clothes, all stained with blood. With shaking hands, he turned the hose on and began to dose the bat in water, running his fingers up and down to wash all the blood away. Hunched over by the house, he made sure to get it off his own skin as well, scratching at his palms and arms. With a glance as he walked through the door, he confirmed that his parents weren’t back yet, and dashed upstairs, stashing the bat away as he tore off his clothes. He needed to wash them later by hand to get the stains out, hoping to avoid his parent’s gazes. Moving to tug on pajamas, he settled down to check his messages - until there was a knock at his door.

“Waka?” His father’s voice filtered through, and he spun around, doing one last check to make sure nothing seemed strange before saying, “Come in.” 

The door creaked open, and his father saw him standing there, nodding once. “Glad you’re home before us. We were hoping you would be back tonight early enough to eat. There’s stuff downstairs, come in the kitchen when you’re ready.” With that, he closed it behind him, and Wakatoshi grumbled, debating the sanity of going to dinner after slamming someone into submission. 

_ It’ll all continue as normal. _

A text tone brought him out of his thoughts, and he quickly moved to unlock his phone, recognizing Izumi’s name on screen.

_ Are you coming to school? You’ve missed a few days now! I have all your homework, and I’ll bring it late tomorrow after my library shift. :) _

Wakatoshi nearly crushed the phone in his hand, but tossed it onto his bed before he could do any real damage. That stupid, naïve boy confused him -  _ why does he still care about me? How does he not see the connections? Nobody cares about me. Nobody ever does. I don’t belong anywhere, and he needs to realize that before he gets hurt. _

“Wakatoshi!” His mother’s sharp voice echoes through the house, and he snarls, prying his door open and slamming it shut behind him. 

The night passed on quietly, without much excitement. Wakatoshi refused to hold a decent conversation, instead just listening to his parents talk before retreating back to his room. He came back to a series of frantic texts from Izumi, talking about the news reports, who declared that they had found another body.

\-  _ “They’re chalking it all up to gang wars and such, but I’m wondering what’s happening. Will you promise to be safe and not rile people up for a while?” _

_ \- “Oh gosh, they put the body up on screen, asking for identification. I don’t think anyone can tell who it is. I might be sick.” _

_ \- “I threw up.”  _

_ \- “Please do promise you’ll be safe, if there are wars going on. I’ll bring the homework over in a couple days. Police are at the door, I’ll tell you if anything new comes up.” _

Wakatoshi stared at the texts, gleaming little meaning from Izumi’s concern. It was misplaced advice and worry, and he didn’t need any of it...

And Wakatoshi didn’t listen to it, anyway. The police did the same as they always did with the third murder -  _ he was banned from bringing his bat, but a knife fight went horribly wrong. He took the murder weapon with him, refusing to leave it behind until he washed it off and threw it in a faraway forest two days later, but the amount of wounds and slices wouldn’t tell you the weapon, anyway, if you looked at the body enough, eyes gouged out and mouth sliced open, stomach exposed and bone visible through torn muscle _ \- they were ignoring it completely and chalking the entire affair up to gang violence. 

Wakatoshi felt himself to be an invisible killer. The authorities neglected him just like everyone else in his life. He wasn’t bothered by any staff or police, or interrogated by his parents and peers.

It was the perfect disguise, and it allowed him to have time to repent for each consecutive show. He wasn’t going to allow them to stay dead. 

Wakatoshi killed once more that week, the fight bringing him far away from his territory. He came out from behind a corner and slammed into his pursuer, fury in his eyes as he beat them to the ground and left them behind, hoping that the disgustingly blocky swings had managed to keep him there long enough to escape. 

However, as he rounded the corner, he came face-to-face with someone he didn’t expect. A bus was driving off in the distance, and he saw-

“Wakatoshi?” Izumi’s eyes raked over his friend’s clothes and the state of his face, pausing when his eyes met. “Why are you covered in blood? Did someone hurt you?” He took a step closer, and Wakatoshi suddenly lifted the bat, causing Izumi to pause and flinch. 

“Who hurt you? Is there someone on your tail? Do you need to come back to the house?” 

“No,” Wakatoshi growled, his eyes never leaving Izumi’s gaze. “Just go away. Turn around, and  _ walk away. _ ”

Izumi stepped closer, extending his arms. “Wakatoshi, please, let me help you-”

_ Something _ possessed him in that moment. It invaded his ears, whispering that all would be well if he lashed out. It covered his vision, making him focus on one thing: a  _ target. _ Parts of his body moved on their own, like strings on a puppet being controlled - and before he knew it, Izumi was recoiling, cradling his left arm after being hit by the bat. Eyes wide, he faced Wakatoshi, but the bat ruined that horrified expression, too. His glasses broke with a  _ crack! _ and flew off his face, landing some odd feet away. He wasn’t sure what to do but run now, beginning to turn, but Wakatoshi swung again at his temple. 

It hit home, and Izumi fell to the ground, screaming. As he attempted to get up, Wakatoshi slammed the down onto his spine, before kicking him over and pummeling it into his stomach. With repeated, heavy motions, the metal weapon kept hitting home. Izumi began to hack violently, and the blood came first as Wakatoshi moved up to his chest, coughing until vomit came next, spilling out of Izumi’s mouth. At the very sight of it, Wakatoshi felt sick himself, and he moved to have a leg on either side of Izumi and held the bat low like a golf club. With a single stroke, he hit his cheek, exchanging sides as he did not relent his attack. His face bruised and became red as every side leaked with blood, caked with brown filth, unable to keep his eyes open. He had fallen unconsciousness long ago, but the lack of a fight only made it all easier to destroy him.

_ Go away. Go away. Go away. When you wake up, this will all be over, and it will never have happened. _

He did not stop until the police came. Officers who approached grabbed him from behind, dragging him off the body and wrenching the bat from his grasp. Wakatoshi screamed in protest, crying and yelling as he was taken away and shoved into the car. He fought back, pounding against the door and glass the entire drive.

_ I don’t want him dead. _

* * *

_ People don’t die. _

Wakatoshi rested his head back against the concrete as he stared at the empty ceiling. Ignoring the sobs and yells of others around him, he left himself to his own thoughts, trying to stay true to his faith. 

_ They never die if people don’t want them to. Mom and dad didn’t want grandad dead, either. But he’s away now. I didn’t want any of the boys dead when they refused to let me belong. I just wanted to prove I could do it. I am stronger than any of them, and I believe in that - I proved it. They’ll come back, and apologize, and I can too. And I’ll have to apologize to Izumi. I didn’t mean to hurt him so bad, but he’ll be fine… perfectly fine.  _

Something murmured otherwise, but he tuned it out, ignoring the persistent thought that only grew the longer he sat in that cell. 

It said horrible, terrible things. It said that everyone was dead, and that he was dead too. It said that he would never be saved and that he could never belong.

He did not want to believe such a voice was telling the truth. If it was, that meant all he believed was a lie. 

So Wakatoshi ignored it.

_ They’re alive because I want them to be alive. They’re alive because I want them to be alive. They’re alive because I want them to be alive. They’re alive because I want them to be alive. They’re alive because I want them to be alive. They’re alive because I want them to be alive. They’re alive because I want them to be alive. They’re alive because  _ **_I_ ** _ want them to be alive. They’re alive because  _ **_I_ ** _ want them to be alive. They’re alive because  _ **_I_ ** _ want them- _

His train of thought came to a grinding halt as someone calls out through the intercom systems. The guard posted nearby hears the summons and moves to the door, hitting the button in sync with the staff member on the other side to unlock it. He hears the footsteps and murmurs of conversation, the door slamming shut once more. The footfalls lead way to his cell, loud as they walk by - but then they stop. 

Wakatoshi forces himself to look up, but he does not recognize the face before him. It is clean shaven, with chocolate brown eyes. Their hair is a warm brown, and the smile across their features is almost unnerving. 

“Hello,” he says smoothly. “Do you know who I am?”

“Haven’t got a single damn idea.”

The man chuckles at the reply, making no move to hide his amusement.

“I am Takahiro Okane. I am the man who can grant you salvation.”

Wakatoshi pauses, trying to find a reference for it in his mind. But instead, he throws his head back and laughs, not catching the man as he tilts his head to one side.

“What strikes you as hilarious?” His voice is no longer tipped with humor, instead sounding grave.

“You? Able to get me out of here? That’s rich. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“The five murders they plan to charge you for say otherwise.”

“I don’t want them dead! They’re not fucking dead! Why does everyone  _ say _ that?”

“Because that is what happened to them.” Takahiro steps towards the bars, peering through them at the boy.

Wakatoshi stood up then, advancing towards the bars, moving to grip them as he snarled at the individual outside of them. “They’re not dead if I don’t want them to be.”

“That doesn’t change the fact there are five families calling for your head. They want you dead. Does that mean you will die, even if you yourself do not desire it?” A cold hand wrapped around Wakatoshi’s own, the grip harsh and demanding. Wakatoshi felt a lump form in his throat, yanking his hands away and retreating back. 

“Shut up.” 

The man stared at him, his gaze steady. 

“Your fate matters not. Whether you are a petty mugger or on death row, I can save you. All you have to do is listen to everything I say until I leave your side.”

Wakatoshi watched, observed the man’s every motion, searching for a trace of a lie to cross his features. He kept staring, kept looking, kept waiting… but nothing came.

“Salvation.”

_ I am the man who can grant you salvation. _

“You just have to say yes, and you can leave this place.”

_ They want you dead. _

“All you have to do is accept my offer.”

_ I can save you. _

Wakatoshi raised his head, and met Takahiro’s gaze, glowering at him.

“I’ll take it.”


	8. Bunmai Kaika Boy - Ai (Entry #10)

Ai could remember the moment it all went to hell.

When he traced back his mistakes, he could pinpoint each one with incredible accuracy on the timeline of his life. Some nights, he sat in wonder, trying to justify how he hadn’t noticed it before. And his mind would give the answer: that at the time, Ai simply never thought he could be so happy and feel so complete... while simultaneously being horribly, horribly wrong.

If asked to pick a moment, he might tell you it started in school.

Ai was settled in at his desk, eyes lazily watching a teacher at the front of the room. In a loud voice, they were instructing the students on the proper way to hold themselves on stage, showing it through exaggerated motions. Ai grinned at the sight, feeling giddy. Learning acting like this in a prestigious institution always made his heart lift, giving him hope for his future in the performing arts. Everything about his life in that moment was almost perfect, and it brought him great joy every single day to enter through the tall doors and work with other students.

But, Ai said “almost” for a good reason.

For a moment, his gaze became distracted and trailed around the room. There were very few students around him, and one of them often caught his eye – a boy with brown hair and violet eyes that you could get lost in all too easily – and he felt himself begin to stare. There was a smile on their face and a pair of red glasses resting on their nose as they stared at the teacher, listening intently.

 _Tokiya was always so studious like that._ Ai couldn’t help but admire his friend. He had always been that way, ever since they met at summer acting camp when they were younger. At the time, Ai had attached to the boy instantly, only to find out later that he had the superior talent and a wonderful knack for playing the hero… and Ai could not find it in his heart to be jealous.

His parents always told him to trust people and have faith in them, and to never be envious of what he couldn’t have – instead, he should be inspired by those who could do something better than you. Admire them.

Ai hadn’t meant to take the “admiration” bit one step further. It was a mistake, in a sense, that he had fallen for his friend, wanting to pursue a romantic relationship that would be that final piece in his grand puzzle of “perfection”. So he strove to give up those feelings and settle for what he had.

...Which was easier said than done. The task of giving them up grew harder and harder by the day, as instead of shrinking, his emotions only became stronger and stronger. The doubt began to be smothered by the intensity of his love… and finally, he could bear it no longer. Ai decided to follow his heart, before the crippling idea of _“It will never be”_ returned and weighed him down again.

* * *

He made the choice to do it after school. Ai called Tokiya up and told him to hit their usual lunch spot in the late afternoon, when nobody was around. The fountain shimmered in the rosy orange glow, the colors of the sun still perfect on Tokiya’s face as he stared at him.

“What’s up, Ai?” Tokiya tilted his head to one side, trying to work out why Ai called him to the school gardens. No answer came to him right away, so he waited for his friend to gather himself and respond, shifting quietly on his feet.

Ai bit his lip and spun his thumbs, unable to keep still and make eye contact with Tokiya. The even stare of his crush was causing his heart to do somersaults, gleefully happy that he had even listened and met him here in the first place. But when he opened his mouth to finally confess, every word came flooding out at once.

“I had to tell you, Tokiya, it’s just been… it’s all here, and you’re here, and I have to tell you because it’s so important. It’s been eating at me for a while, but I don’t know if you’ll accept me because of it—“

“Ai.”

The quiet, firm voice caused Ai to pause, and he tried again to glance up at Tokiya. His violet eyes were hard, boring holes into Ai. With a heavy sigh, he asked him to start again, a chance that Ai gratefully took.

“...I have to tell you how I feel, Tokiya. That I’ve loved you for a long time. Please, I don’t want it to ruin our friendship, and I don’t want you to hate me for it. But I had to tell you. All I ask is that you don’t let it change our relationship.”

Ai sucked in a deep breath, holding it as Tokiya remained silent for a moment. The sun vanished over the horizon, and Tokiya looked up as the garden lamps came on, casting strange shadows about them.

“…Even if I said yes, would you still not want to change our relationship?”

Ai’s eyes widened as a smile blossomed on Tokiya’s features, and he captured his friend into a hug, holding him tight.

“I didn’t think you would say it!”

“Why do you think I wouldn’t? You really are still ridiculous… and here I thought you had matured.”

Ai laughed, only holding Tokiya tighter, feeling the elation he had been hoping for all this time.

_Perfection._

* * *

Ai pinched himself countless times, but never found himself waking up from what felt like a dream. Despite the fact Tokiya had explicitly requested they keep their relationship secret, he couldn’t stop his smile and went about his day with far more energy than before. Tokiya took the lead in the relationship, letting him know when they could risk an outing and enjoy each other’s company. Ai lived for those moments when Tokiya felt safe enough to hold his hand or let himself be hugged.

As he spent more and more time in this relationship with Tokiya, he knew that he was destined to be in love like this. Each time Tokiya’s fingers laced through his, or he heard a text tone go off and saw who it was from, he felt that pure joy and elation that only came from a romance. The secret nature of it only heightened its appeal,  and he didn’t dare tell his parents — despite the fact he knew they would not mind.

_The fewer people who know, the better._

Ai had dreamed of the love he would someday have. He knew from an early age that he wanted a person he could spend all his waking hours with. A constant concern of his was that he might not meet that person until he was old and gray… but Tokiya coming into his life made all those worries vanish in an instant.

Later on, the two of them began to spend more time together in school. Tokiya took the plunge first and asked if he could start eating with Ai more often, and they decided to sit in the park where Ai had asked him out. Students hardly came outside, in favor of eating outside practice rooms or between rehearsals, and it left the couple relatively undisturbed. On such an afternoon, Ai commented on Tokiya’s lunch, making a move for the contents before retreating with a laugh. However, in retaliation, Tokiya stabbed a piece with his fork and held it out towards Ai, taunting him.

“What! Do you actually want to give me some?”

“Well, why not?” Tokiya shrugged. “I’m not afraid of you giving me a cold that will ruin my week.”

“That’s not— But—“ Ai sputtered out excuses, earning himself a look from Tokiya. “All right, fine!”

At his resignation, Tokiya moved it closer, and Ai opened his mouth to take a bite, but the sound of the door slamming open startled them both. In a flash, Ai seized the fork in Tokiya’s hands, shoving the evidence of shared food into his mouth.

“Tokiya!” The girl cried out, jogging towards them. “We need you for rehearsal today!”

“Wh… What? Was that today?”

“Yes! Tokiya, you’re usually more on the ball about these sorts of things.” She groaned, wringing her hands. “Let’s _go!_ ”

“I’ll be right there!” he called after her as she hurried back inside, and he turned to Ai, smiling fondly at the sight of the fork still in his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ai said, wiping the utensil on a napkin and handing it back to Tokiya. “We can do it tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Tokiya said with a nod. “I’ll see you later.” He gave his boyfriend a wide grin before he left, and Ai felt a blush creep up to his cheeks at the sight, slapping both his cheeks and feeling the warmth of his face.

“… I love him.”

* * *

Life was better after that. It felt like heaven; like every step he took was on a cloud and there was no fear of falling. But still he remembered the strained tone in Tokiya’s voice when he said he needed to talk. It was the way it happened suddenly when they were just texting each other as they always did, trading messages that Ai knew he was deleting on the other end.

> _“Meet me tomorrow, please. Good night.”_

Ai did as he was asked, and upon seeing his boyfriend the next day, the smile that usually occupied Ai’s lips vanished from his face in an instant. The look Tokiya had was grave, and Ai felt that it was his moral obligation to listen to whatever he had to say. No matter how much the words would hurt. He just hoped that they wouldn’t sting _too_ much as Tokiya made him sit down, noticing that he sat a little further away from him on the bench. Usually, he didn’t mind being close, with their legs touching as they chatted. But this time, it was obvious that there was some barrier he was self-imposing between them.

“...Tokiya?”

“Don’t talk.”

The dark, muddled tone that came from the oft-composed actor caused Ai to silence himself immediately, ears straining for any words that might come from his lips.

“I… I suppose I should start with saying that I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Ai. I love you deeply and while this isn’t me breaking up... this is me saying I need to pull away. This is my way of loving you in this moment, because it’s for both of our well-beings. I swear…”

Tokiya trailed off again and Ai wanted to interrupt, near-bursting with a million questions. In an attempt to silence himself, he bit down on his tongue, distracting himself until Tokiya spoke again.

“My parents wouldn’t accept what we have, if could ever tell them. They want me to love ladies, not men, and desire grandchildren that are ‘mine’, for some reason I still don’t understand. Whenever I ask for their reasons, they are vague, they are listless, and tell me to focus on school. I want to escape this stage they’re setting for me, and I _will_ get out. And, I will take you with me, Ai.”

Ai barely registered his hands being taken up by Tokiya, trying to not taste the blood on his tongue. While the second half of his declaration had been far better than the first, he refused to believe that this was happening.

“But… why, Tokiya?” His words felt thick and forced, as if they were pushing through layers of grief and confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I am risking so much to be with you, Ai. I swear, I swear that I love you, too. I just don’t want either of us to get hurt from this right now.”

“Can’t you escape it now? Please, Tokiya… don’t leave me. I don’t want you to go.” His fingers tightened, Tokiya wincing a moment from the pain, trying to tug them away until Ai noticed his grip. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tokiya gave a slight smile back, trying to comfort Ai. “I just needed to tell you. And whatever you want to do, we’ll do. I promise. Just let me work it out and we can escape together, as soon as we can.”

Ai gave a confident nod, hoping that he understood exactly what Tokiya was trying to say. He believed that he got the general gist of it, but he refused to misunderstand something so crucial despite that.

However, those concerns vanished the second Tokiya leaned in. After casting a quick glance about to confirm they were alone, he pressed his lips against Ai’s, the chaste expression of love sealing a promise to commit to each other.

“I love you.” Tokiya’s voice was a quiet whisper, his words carrying a more honest weight. Ai nodded once, standing up while holding onto Tokiya’s hands still and flashing a confident smile once more.

“I love you too.”

The smile that Tokiya returned upon hearing those words carried Ai all the way home. He tried to think on the upsetting circumstances that Tokiya had given him, and what they could lead to – but his brain refused to settle on such stressful things. Instead, it remembered the look that Tokiya gave, the way his tone rose when he said those three sweet words. He was completely unaware of his own expression as he stepped through the door, finding his mom alone in the kitchen. Ai let his bag drop to the ground as he looked around the apartment, thinking to find a snack when his mother commented on his expression.

“That’s a nice smile you got there. Did something good happen today?”

“Huh? Yeah!” Ai did his best to quickly think up an excuse, using the delay to turn and grab something from the fridge. “A teacher complimented my abilities today and said I’ve really improved since the beginning of the year.”

“Is that all that’s going on?” She gave a sly smile, and Ai suddenly became aware that she was trying to dig more information out of him. Refusing to play that game, he returned her smile.

“What do you mean? Yeah, that’s all that happened today.” However, Ai could tell that she wasn’t assured by this response, watching as the smile did not vanish from her face. “Everything’s fine and normal.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?”

“Nope.” He decided to pull a blunt and empty card, erecting a stone-faced look. His mother continued to stare, but he ignored it as best he could without too much protest.

“All right. I just want you to know we’re here. I know we leave a lot and might not tell you too much, but we just don’t want to worry you, Ai. We want you to be happy.”

“I know.” He returned her smile with a weary one of his own before standing up from the table, collecting their plates. “I promise it’s all okay! I am thrilled that my progress is being noticed!”

“I am, too! I can’t wait to see when you finally get a lead role.” She reached across and pinched his cheek, and he laughed, brushing her hand away.

“I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far…” Ai was happy as the conversation shifted, giving a silent sigh as she talked about her favorite plays.

He didn’t have to lie for now.

* * *

Despite Ai’s concerns, the need for keeping it under tight wraps began to take its toll on him and Tokiya. While not obvious at first, their meetings had gradually became tense, and Tokiya kept glancing over his shoulder, eyes wild and afraid. His anxiety about the whole affair had spiked to a dangerous high. Ai realized that he had become uncomfortable because of it, and decided that it was best if they spent more time on the school grounds, where Tokiya was clearly more comfortable.

One afternoon, they were seated together on the bench, Ai chittering away as they highlighted their lines.

“So, I was thinking, my parents are usually calm about this sort of thing. I mean, I’m sure they wouldn’t judge and would want to help. If you’re still sure about keeping this all a secret, we can.”

“I am.”

“Then, that’s fine. I just wasn’t sure, because of the toll it seems to be taking on you. …I just want to give us more options, you know?”

“Mhm.” Tokiya’s strokes with the highlighter were thick and even, putting immense pressure on the paper. Ai’s own were light strokes, slightly crooked, but he had finished with his few lines long ago and was now watching Tokiya with a quiet gaze.

“Tokiya? Speaking of taking a toll, you look really tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Tokiya, even if you’ve been a little distant with me lately, I still love you and know when you’re stressed. So please, tell me you’re all right, or tell me what’s wrong.”

Tokiya stopped his work, slowly closing the marker and breathing a heavy sigh as twisted the cap in his fingers.

“Tokiya?”

“A moment, please.” His voice was so small, Ai almost missed it, and he stopped in order to hear if Tokiya was going to say anything else. But for a moment, silence all there was, hanging in the air like a dark and ominous cloud which broke into thunder when Tokiya choked his sentence out.

“They picked a wife for me.” His voice came through, muted. Ai could only stare in shock, having expected him to say many things. Yet the thought of being forcibly removed from Tokiya’s life without even a chance to fight back—!

“But, Tokiya!”

“They have picked a wife and I can’t do a thing about it. My parents are probably paying the family a lot of money, and I can’t bring disgrace to them. I will be marrying her after my schooling is done, before I even have a chance to make it on the stage. I… may be dependent on my parents forever.” Tokiya wrung his hands for a moment, grasping at the empty air, before letting them drop onto his lap. However, Ai refused to let them settle there, taking them up and holding tight.

“No! We don’t have to do this!” His loud declaration caused Tokiya to turn to him, eyes wide. “We could do it now. Like you’ve said, Tokiya, we’ll just run away. We promised we would get away. Let’s go so we can be together.”

“Don’t be so dramatic about it, Ai. That only happens in books.”

“We could make it happen for ourselves! It’s the only way we’ll be together, Tokiya.” Ai held fast to Tokiya’s hands as the other boy tried to pull away, refusing to let him go. “You don’t have to leave me so soon.”

The other boy remained quiet, not meeting Ai’s gaze. He toyed with his bottom lip, biting at it while he tried to think. “It… Just let me think, Ai. I’ll think of something.”

Ai nodded firmly. He trusted Tokiya to do at least that. He was smarter and better than those sorts of things – he was confident that he could solve it.

However, two months passed without any movement on Tokiya’s part. In that time, Ai began to wonder if Tokiya was growing even more distant from him. He was denying meetings and get-togethers more often, under the pretense that his parents were forcing him to spend more time with his fiancée — _who has no right to be with him._

The mere thought of this girl occupying Tokiya’s time by force of obligation, not devotion, tore away at Ai’s heart. Each time a text or word dropped that even sounded like no, Ai couldn’t listen to what followed. His frustration consumed his rational thoughts, causing his studies to slip in every class that Tokiya was in. He would only stare at his boyfriend’s back, trying to puzzle together a way to escape the confines of their cage, since _he_ wasn’t doing a thing about it. It left him feeling empty when he went to bed each night, unable to think of a solution that wouldn’t get them both in serious trouble.

He finally decided it might be best to consult his parents. It ran the risk that they would be irritated with him — if not flat-out furious — but it was a risk he was willing to take in exchange for their knowledgeable advice. With that fire in him, it propelled him through the day, giving him the energy to get home with a spring in his step.

However, when he opened the door and called out, he saw the table empty, and the familiar pink stationery on the table, his mother’s tidy handwriting visible as he lifted it.

_“Ai – We’re out to dinner! Be back at 11. – Mom.”_

He swallowed thickly as he read the note once. Twice. And a third time for good measure as the implications of the note sank in. That _they_ could go out with no trouble and were accepted by the vast majority of society. His parents didn’t have the weight of judgement bearing down upon them for simply existing. They weren’t forced into relationships against their will, and had nothing to be ashamed for. Ai felt raw, angry tears falling before he could stop them, hot against his cheeks as he all but collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the fridge and appreciating the cool metal against his cheek.

He wanted that sort of relationship. He wanted that freedom and that happiness, the acceptance and the joy. But his hopes for such an ideal were dying fast.

* * *

Guilt gnawed at Tokiya’s heart as he settled on the couch next to his fiancée, hating that such a term could be applied to a person he held no feelings for. His parents had long since left the house, leaving them alone for the evening to do whatever they desired — so they talked about the ridiculous nature of the entire affair.

“There’s no point in such a stupid method. I’m happy my parents are getting money, but… I don’t think this is how I want it to happen.” Her voice was sweet, but harbored a disgust for her circumstances.

“Of course not.” Tokiya leaned away and turned to look at her. “It’s rather medieval.”

“Well, it’s not _that_ barbaric. But I’ll admit, I wish they had picked a better solution.”

“I wish that they had too, so I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m actually quite happy you feel the way you do, honestly.”

She turned to him with a strange look, but Tokiya shook his head, dropping the topic. _She doesn’t need to know just yet._ With a few words, he spun the subject away, moving it onto others things, but as that topic ground to a halt, she pounced on it again.

“Is there another girl in your life? Someone that you want to be with instead? Because, I don’t mind being the filler if it means my parents get to be happy and I get that same privilege.”

“I would be happy to let you love who you desire and feel no resentment towards the person you choose. Marriages shouldn’t be forced like this… and I think you’ll find that my boyfriend agrees too.” As he said those last words, Tokiya watched a shadow cross over her features only briefly, but it faded as soon as it appeared. Chalking it up to a surprise at the twist, Tokiya smiled. “I can introduce him to you. He’s a wonderful boy. Bit of a sappy romantic, though, but I love him all the more for it.”

“He sounds… truly wonderful, as you say.” Her smile was kind, and Tokiya felt relieved at her reaction. “I assume, then, it’s a secret…”

“I don’t like to think what would happen if my parents found out. I can’t let them know, so I haven’t said a word and been careful. But you agree that this charade is a ridiculous thing. And clearly, have someone you love – what are they like?”

She paused for a moment, eyes glancing away before meeting Tokiya’s again, launching into a description of her current boyfriend, and Tokiya listened with a smile on his face, happy to see her talking so freely about this.

_Is this what love should feel like? Pride in your significant other? …I can’t wait until the day comes that I can freely express my love like this. I promise you, Ai. It will be soon._

* * *

_Where is Tokiya?_

Ai felt a chill down his spine as Tokiya didn’t show up to classes for the third day in a row. He hadn’t responded to a single one of his texts before last night, where a message finally came up in response: _“The number you are trying to reach may be out of service, or may not be powered.”_

Ai had thrown his phone across his bedroom at the sight of it, hearing it slam against the wall with a bang. Now today, he just hoped that Tokiya would be in school soon, so they could resolve it without incident. Yet as each day dragged on, Ai found the possibility less and less likely. News finally reached him in the wings of the stage during a rehearsal, where a new prince was stepping in to replace Tokiya.

_“Didn’t you hear? He’s been pulled out of school.”_

_“What? But he was so gifted…”_

_“I guess his parents saw that he was too good and didn’t want him going down this path.”_

_“Oh, like they thought he was going to fall flat here and realize he couldn’t act? And then surpassed all expectations? Well that’s just unfair…”_

At the sound of their conversation, Ai felt his ears begin to ring. A hand went to his throat as it became dry, trying to control his breathing, shallow and strained. As he struggled to remain standing, the pair noticed him, and instantly escorted him to the nurse’s office. After a quick examination, they left him alone on the bed, and Ai attempted to sort out his racing thoughts.

The first that occurred to him was “ _They know_ ,” quickly followed up with “ _How do they know?”_ Ai found he had answers for neither. Muddled theories came to the surface as he laid there, from Tokiya spilling the details due to stress, to his own mistake in wanting to confide in his parents, to even that Tokiya might be dead. _The last one, he tried to tune out, refusing to believe that his parents would resort to murdering their only son._ Finally, he realized there was only one thing he could do to confirm the truth.

He waited outside Tokiya’s house. Settling down outside, Ai waited patiently and ignored the strange glances of passersby. He simply kept his eyes trained on the front door or the windows above, wanting to see that familiar sign of brown hair and comforting smile. While he waited, he shot off three more texts, hoping that he wouldn’t get three instant responses.

_ > “The number you are trying to reach may be out of service, or may not be powered.” _

_ > “The number you are trying to reach may be out of service, or may not be powered.” _

_ > “The number you are trying to reach may be out of service, or may not be powered.” _

Finally, his waiting paid off. There was a movement at the curtain upstairs. Ai looked up desperately, and saw a face that would have seemed familiar if it hadn’t been for the shadows that surrounded it. Bags were under Tokiya’s eyes, and a bruise had blossomed on his right cheek. Standing up tall, Ai wanted to do _something_ to help, going to dial emergency services, when a face replaced the one at the window, shoving Tokiya aside.

Ai could only describe the gaze as a poisonous fury. They saw him and seemed to pale before storming away from the glass. Ai felt a sense of dread at the sudden disappearance of the figure, and knew why; the front door slammed open moments later, a voice roaring at him.

“ _Get out of here!_ ” Their scream echoed down the streets, and Ai stood in place, too scared to move.

“Get away from this house with your disgusting filth!” In the next moment, they were descending the stairs, pushing Ai over into the street with another profane cry.

He ran, still hearing the yells behind him, pounding in his ears. He got back and came face-to-face with his parents on the doorstep, seeing his tears and going to embrace him, holding him close. They attempted to console him with sweet words and too many questions, but he only kept crying until they brought him to his room, laying him down to rest.

 

Unbeknownst to Ai, Tokiya was listening to his parent’s conversation through the closed door, saying that they shouldn’t have shouted so the neighbors could hear, and that they had to resolve this sooner, rather than later. They spoke of how Ai had been acting, trying to pretend that he and their son were in love. And Tokiya knew they believed it — but refused to acknowledge that it was true to his face.

“Do you think we should call for help on behalf of his parents? If they’re supporting this behavior, he’s not getting a proper intervention…”

“Didn’t we see something in the news, recently? Looking for volunteers about a study, of sorts. Delusional people. I think I saved the paper…”

Tokiya wanted to scream. He wanted to tell them to stop and let him out, let him see Ai and get out of their lives, not burdening them with the shame of having to interact with either of them ever again. But the truth constricted about his heart and made him sit still. It kept him rooted to the bed, unable to move and argue anymore. There was nothing left to fight for, not when he knew he was on the losing side. The world felt hopeless and bleak, and a happy future seemed out of reach.

There was simply no point anymore.

 

_ > “The number you are trying to reach is out of service, or may not be powered.” _

 

Ai tried again later, knowing that he had to until he saw Tokiya. But each time he went to their house, he was either forced away, or nobody came to the window. His parents had no idea where he was going on those late nights, and tried to coax the truth out of him, and even made it a point of dragging him to a therapist, trying to make him talk to anybody they could. But he couldn’t trust a soul. Ai didn’t want to confide in anybody out of the fear they could tell the truth to their families and all would come forward. It was already bad enough. _It didn’t need to get worse,_ he thought. And if he played his part right, saying nothing at all, there was no way they could incriminate him further. Or so he assumed.

The reassurance he told himself every hour of the day didn’t help the feeling that he was being followed after that incident. There was a person lurking in the shadows of the street, but each time he turned around, they had vanished into thin air. Sometimes, he swore he saw a glimpse of their face, or their arm, but the details — if they even existed — told him nothing. After a time, he began to laugh when he felt that creeping sensation, wondering if he was going insane.

_There can’t be anything there._

Ai told himself it was his sins crawling up his back. It helped him sleep at night, oddly enough.

* * *

The last thing he remembered was when the end came. Beyond that, everything was muddled and thick, as if he couldn’t process anything else properly. He was numb with shock and unable to interact with his environment.

But Ai could remember the moment it all _became_ hell.

People had been coming to his doors as of late, refusing to speak with him, but his parents instead. Whether they were the same person or a different one, he couldn’t tell, as they spoke in hushed tones... but he knew he was the one being talked about. When they first came, they spoke of a call they had received — a tip-off, of sorts, from a “well-meaning family.”

Ai had screamed when he heard that, trying to prevent the truth from coming out, but his parents began to lock him in his room whenever these people came over. After he started banging his head against the door, one of them would sit in his bedroom while the other spoke with the person, never telling him what went on in those meetings.

So he made a choice that he knew he should have made long ago. Ai decided that he would break out to escape it all.

It happened one evening when the person had come over in the late afternoon. Ai stationed himself by the door, texting Tokiya one more time to see if maybe, just maybe, the text would go through. Stashing it into his bag before he could see the result of his test, he heard the doorknob turn as his father opened the door… and he _ran._

Barreling into his father, it stunned him enough to get past, and Ai dashed through the kitchen, alarming his mother and the person — who he didn’t recognize, nor bother to give a passing thought towards — before going out the front door.

He felt freedom in every motion he made. His feet took him in a path he knew all too well, running towards Tokiya’s house at a breakneck pace. Ai couldn’t remember how fast he got there, but nearly slammed into the door as he took the steps three at a time, pounding the wood with the palm of his hand.

“Where is he!” His question sounded more of a demand, his voice a shrill shriek. All he could think of was how he needed to grab Tokiya and _run._ They needed to get out of here before it was too late, and escape their hellish circumstances to get far, _far_ away.

The door swung open, and Ai nearly hit the person in the face, their thick hand stopping his wrist and twisting it violently. Ai let out a cry and pried it back, cradling it against his chest.

“Go the fuck away!”

“No!” Ai screeched back, refusing to leave. He kept himself rooted in his position on the step, glaring up at the man.

“You don’t belong in society!”

“Yes we do! Let me in!”

“Like hell I will! Go find other freaks like you!”

Ai was about to bite back, but the sound of a gunshot interrupted his next sentence.

All of time froze as he realized that he had not been the one shot at, and that the man standing before him was still perfectly intact. But they, too, were still, and Ai seized the chance to push past him and run up the stairs, with a mind to kick every door open until he found Tokiya…. but he didn’t need to. A lady who he assumed to be his mother was standing before a doorway, a hand to her mouth and a horrified look in her eyes. Ai went over and looked inside.

And he couldn’t remember anything after that.

 

...

 

_ > “The number you are trying to reach is out of service, or is not powered.” _

* * *

A light clicked on in the dim room, revealing the contents of a clean office. Somber eyes blinked against the harsh glow, holding a hand up to give him a moment to adjust.

“Do you know what we’re doing here?” The man with the red tie stepped into the space, going over to a desk and pulling open a drawer.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” the man with somber eyes murmured, following him over and taking the binder in hand. “But I’ll assume it’s for this.”

“Mm.” The man with the red tie only gave a smile as the other man’s eyes scanned the test within. “This project should have a familiar name to you.”

“I should hope so. I did sign up to work for those in the Jigokugata project.”

“Yes, but I think it’s time you know why we’re here. We want your help. And it might help you work with the boys better if you know what you’re getting involved in.”

“I would be inclined to agree.” He gave a smile as he began to read the report, starting with the opening statements as the man with the red tie left him to his reading.

_“We are testing a drug that should, through proper control and experimentation, encourage a constant state of mind. When administered, it will create a loop of the current mindset to continue ad infinitum. No matter what the person is feeling, be it fear, elation, happiness, or sorrow, their brain will play the emotion in an intensified state on repeat…”_

The man with somber eyes glanced up briefly, checking his watch with a heavy sigh.

_This will be a long night._


End file.
